


Momento Vivere *Revised*

by LittleKittenGirl



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Allspark Sam Witwicky, Altrenate Universe - Priests and Priestesses, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-War, Prime and High Lord Protector Bonds, Species Swap, Time Travel Fix-It, Transformer Sparklings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleKittenGirl/pseuds/LittleKittenGirl
Summary: Sam Witwicky and ancient relics had never exactly had the most stable of... err, relationships, for lack of a better word. To be specific, Cybertronian relics. To be even more specific, Sam Witwicky, Matrixes and the Primes.After accomplishing what he first thought would be a suicide mission, Sam was whisked away to Cybertron, in a new frame, with new abilities, an old friend/pain in the aft stuck in his head, and a mission to save a world before doomed to destruction and death.How saving and raising the sparkling, youngling and mechling selves of former allies, family and sworn enemies is supposed to do that, he has no idea. Well, at least they're cute.Hey, no no no, don't touch that!His children are going to deactivate him before any mysterious great evil ever gets the chance!





	1. London Bridge Is Falling Down, Falling Down, Falling Down

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Antebellum](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/498859) by SavvyEnigma. 
  * Inspired by [Of Cybertron (Old)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8796652) by [northpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/northpeach/pseuds/northpeach), [wolfsrainrules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsrainrules/pseuds/wolfsrainrules). 



> Hey, guys! Guess who's back!  
> I'm sorry I took this down for so long, but I was alerted that I had borrowed too heavily from one of the works this was inspired by, about to the line between inspiration and plagiarism. This was the first fanfic that I really posted on here (not taking into consideration any one-shots that I may have done, and it really was just scrapped together without my thinking I'd actually post it at the time. Don't worry, I've revised this best I could (without causing plot troubles) so that this is no longer the case.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

When he died, he didn’t expect it to turn out this way.

Of course, neither did he expect to buy a car that turned out to be a giant robot, nor did he ever think that said robot’s family would become as dear to him as his own. Sam never thought he’d save the world by causing a belated mass extinction, nor that he’d kill something almost six times taller than him and millennia older than his entire planet. He never even expected that beautiful Mikaela Banes would deign to be his girlfriend, much less that she would turn out to be the love of his life.

Of course, saving the world twice over(twice!) and already dying once for his troubles wasn’t without its drawbacks. The silvery scars on his hands were a constant reminder of his meeting with the Thirteen Primes, and he still had headaches from where the Allspark knowledge once resided.

That wasn’t even taking into account the severe PTSD he had developed. Often, he would find himself suspicious of police cars, military vehicles and nice automobiles. He would find himself bolting upright mid-scream even years after from the night-terrors.

But right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that _**Ironhide** was dead, **Lennox** was dead, **Epps** was dead, **Wheeljack** was dead, **Skids and Mudflap** were dead,_ and it all was that **damn** _Sentinel_ ’s fault. Optimus had spent so long believing he was the last Prime, and then low and behold, his old mentor returns! The **joy** and **relief** Sam could sense from them all, especially his Prime, was heartbreaking. And then Sentinel upped and _shot Ironhide with a cosmic rust cannon, declared Earth as worthy of being destroyed, and decided to join the Decepticons in on their plan for good measure!_

Yeah, he had quite a few very good reasons to want the slagging bastard deactivated. But that wasn’t what he had had to do. As Bumblebee and Prowl distracted the Decepticons, Sam was tasked with destroying the Control Matrix. The distraction worked only until he began to climb the pillar to get there.

Sentinel himself, the huge undeniable slagger that he wanted nothing more than to see with a hole through his helm, then decided to try to stop him. He wasn’t exactly sure what happened afterwards. All he knew was that people were _screaming_ , Decepticons were _dying_ , his family was being _decimated_ , the space portal was glowing a _blue-blue-blue-sO-BLUE_ , he was so scared but _Lennox and Epps, and Ironhide oh gOD_ \- and then somebody was crying out his name, someone was yelling in rage, he was promoting a steady stream of curses inside his head and yet he remembered in excruciating detail the sheer _agony_ that went through him as he placed a scarred palm on the matrix.

  
*~*~*

  
Then next thing he knew, he was… somewhere. He tried to swing his arms, open his eyes, anything, but it didn’t work. He was stuck and couldn’t move and his heart was starting to beat faster and faster-

Except he couldn’t feel his heart beating.

On that matter, he couldn’t feel anything at all. He wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t seeing he wasn’t able to do anything but think-

He was dead. It was the only logical reason for all this.

He, Sam J. Witwicky, was finally dead.

If this was death, then he wanted nothing to do with it.

Sam tried to squirm, to move, to do anything with every fibre of his being. And then, he heard something. A rustle. A cold metal hand rested on what would be his shoulder, and yet at the same time, it was blessedly warm. He recognized the whirr of cogs, the cool-yet-warm metal of that servo, the faint smell of a freshly cleaned chassis-

A Cybertronian. This was a Cybertronian.

_How the heck did he get into the Well of Allsparks?_

Then, he could _see._

He watched images flash before his eyes, of bots that he instinctively knew growing up, their motives and dreams and lives. He knew them all, though some of them he hadn’t even heard of.

A young Megatron, using his battered frame to shield a childlike Barricade and two terrified sparklings he knew to be Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. That same mechling watching a broken datapad longingly before being forced to learn how to fight- little Optimus running through the docks, away from the yells that were screaming at him and promising pain and _hurt-_ a tiny sparkling, Soundwave, clutching his helm in an effort to make the voices just _stop-_ Shockwave hiding behind a set of lab equipment, hiding from the scientists in fear of the tests and tests _and so many tests-_

Bumblebee wrapped in a blue shawl, being pushed into a position he never wanted because he doesn’t know what else _he could do-_ Bluestreak surrounded by towering mechs and pushed around, his stack of datapads spilling onto the ground. Prowl screaming and _crying_ , trying to fight the arms keeping him from his little brother as they were _torn apart._

Jazz taking a little red crystal in the hopes that the drugs would take the aches and loneliness _away-_ Ironhide, forcing himself to do better even as he purged his tanks from the physical strain, trying to keep his ailing creators afloat so that they weren’t _melted into spare parts_. The anguish and guilt on Ratchet’s faceplates as he was lead away from a damaged Gamma, unable to treat and save him because of something as stupid as _caste._

The visions came faster and faster now. He saw dozens of bots-what drove them to become Autobots or Decepticons.

Then he saw the future. He saw Optimus negotiating with human ambassadors, happier than he had ever seen him before. He could only watch as he proposed to Mikaela, watched her say yes, saw her walk down the aisle on their wedding day, her brilliant smile making her look even more beautiful than he could ever dream. He saw himself place a hand on her swollen stomach, the few remaining bots celebrating when they announced that she was _pregnant-_

Sam could hear a silky voice whisper into his ear. _Would you change this? Would you give all this up to save them? Would you give up everything to save my children?_

He wanted so badly to say no. To be, just once, selfish enough to live that life he was shown. To be happy with his family and finally have that perfect happy ending. And yet…

And yet he could still see, even now, Ratchet crying out in pure grief as his Amica Endura was executed in front of him, Lennox staying faithfully by Ironhide’s side as he wasted away despite everyone’s best efforts, little Annabelle asking Sarah where was Uncle ‘Hide and if she could see him, Optimus looking up at the night sky as he let his frame sag from the sheer weight of the war on his shoulders. Even further back was Jazz, in the beginning, a bright flicker of candlelight that promised life and bright smiles and rare treasured vivacity, snuffed out by a cyclone of epic proportions that he couldn't hope to withstand.

If he didn’t do this when he had the chance, he would never be able to look at any of the ‘bots in the optic again. He’d never be able to look Mikaela in the face if he didn’t. The biting cold of nothingness was nothing compared to the emotional agony he was going through. And in that one second of hesitance, he had made up his mind.

_I’m so sorry, Mikaela. I hope you can forgive me._

Lips finally able to move, he licked them nervously. His single word trembled from the weight of his decision. “Yes.”

Then, the warm presence vanished. He was falling, falling-falling-falling down, down, down into a great abyss and it was like the fall of Mission City all over again but this time _he didn’t know if someone was going to catch him as Optimus did-_

The voice returned, soft and featherlight. It was warm and comforting and in that second all his fear somehow, incomprehensibly vanished. _Welcome, child,_ it murmured in his ear. _Welcome to the Ranks of the Primes,_ and he felt himself fall deeper into unconsciousness before he felt his body condense into being, and slam into something hard.

_Genesis, Hope of Cybertron._  
.  
.  
.


	2. One Pede Forwards

Sam groaned as awareness rushed back to him. With consciousness came body-wracking pain and he lurched up, jumping to his pedes before tumbling down onto his knees, hands flat against the ground as he tried to regain his bearings. Nausea settled into the pit of his stomach and he could see faint tremors running down his black and blue marbled arms- wait, his arms weren’t made of metal.

Alien blue glyphs ran across his vision even as he clenched his eyes shut. They were still there, giving data on his own systems. How was this possible. Something was different-not wrong, surprisingly enough, but _horrifyingly_ different. He wanted to freak out, but something was preventing the pending panic attack.

As he fully awoke, he felt another presence in his mi-processors. It retreated when it realised he wasn’t going to level the whole city in hysteria, but it still was there. His visor flashed on in shock(he couldn’t feel his optics but knew if he thought about that he was going to have a complete meltdown) as he realised its identity.

The Allspark. The Primus-forsaken Allspark was in his head.

He toppled back onto his bu- skidplate and raised his new servos to his faceplate. They were a gleaming black like much of his armour, but if it weren’t for the metallic sheen and the gears turning as he flexed them, he could have thought they were human. He turned them over, admiring the craftsmanship. He raised his helm in an effort to somewhat relieve the sense of confusion and dread. 

Everything around him was dull and dingy, but still had a level of metal to it. He was in an alley, far enough away from its mouth to stay private, a wall in front and to the back of him, a thin stretch of dark sky visible above. If he looked hard enough he could see the stars. The sound of grinding gears and garbled words echoed towards him.

His gaze went back to his servos before taking a breath-no, he vented.

_He wasn’t human any longer. Where was he? WHAT was he?_

Two images flickered up, one holding a picture of a glittering planet of onyx with light emanating from the lights on its side. The other held blueprints to a frame- _his_ frame.

_He was a Cybertronian. He was a Cybertronian on Cybertron, sometime… before war devastated this world?_ The thought of this planet falling into ruin made something tighten in his chassis. Was this how Optimus felt about Earth? The desire to protect innocent people from complete and utter destruction?

He forcibly turned his attention away from that train of thought and directed it towards his blueprints. And wasn’t that a weird thought? He shuttered his visor-oh dear god, please let that not mean he didn’t have any optics- and scrutinized the look.

A few elements of Optimus were there, the tri-winged audials and the frame, though he was obviously far more streamlined. He rather liked the paint job, what with the glossy black with artistic Allspark blue lines marbled into his armour, and the sensory arrays he had were pretty cool and _they could extend into wings?!_ A cloaking mechanism that he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was hiding was in a footnote of sorts. There were also two metal wheels around his ankles that could go down and that he could use to go around as well, sort of like futuristic rollerskates. Maybe that would be fun..? 

Tired of his attempts at denial, he let his vision spark back on again and stumbled up. It took him a solid five tries due to the amount of data being received through his arrays making his equilibrium all wonky, but eventually, he was able to balance on his pedes. 

It took him an extra hour of experimentation to get used to slipping between bipedal mode and alt. mode, but it was worth it. He changed into some sort of Cybertronian vehicle that reminded him of a Camaro-and he nearly _keened_ from how much it looked like Bumblebee- and a fighter jet, all sleek curves and streamlined sharp edges. When he had finally become comfortable in both modes(and was no longer tripping over his own two pedes) and skimmed through the Allspark knowledge on Cybertronians in general, he mustered up the courage to go to the alleyway's mouth.

He was immediately slammed by how normal it appeared. If you looked past the fact that all the pedestrians were basically giant robots-though he actually towered over most of them and wasn’t _that_ a strange thought-, he could almost find himself in any Earthen city. People were flying, driving and walking past, all of the different colours, frames and styles. 

  
_Alright_ . He took a deep vent-not that he really needed it-and prepared himself, posture straightening. _Not the time for a freak-out, I need to find a place to live, then some credits and finally, I can go prevent this whole fragging stupid war. No big deal._ He chewed the tip of his derma nervously. _But first I need to get myself a job._ His gaze swept over the masses of bots, and his spark lurched in his chassis. _Who am I kidding? Primus, I’m gonna get everyone killed. Why did I think I could do this?_


	3. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Sam gets used to living on Cybertron. Exposition takes place.

_Where am I?_

_Sire? Carrier? Why can’t I feel you?_

_Why are you fighting?_

_/-/-/_

_He could faintly remember better life before this. Warmth, good energon, laughter-but then Carrier died. They hadn’t been happy since he died. It had gotten to the point that he no longer remembered how to smile, to really smile without feeling guilty for lying._

_Now he was scrambling to keep himself and the three younger ones he had come to consider his alive. Safe from the tall, well-to-do mech with golden optics and a cruel smirk. He bore through the fighting lessons, the humiliation of being a slave. If only it kept his own safe from that cruel, cold gaze._

_It no longer mattered that gladiators shouldn’t read. He could take the punishments. But he loved to read, to learn of the world Outside. It was his escape. Sometimes, when their master was deep in recharge, he’d read out loud to his little makeshift family unit until they were lulled away by his soft tones and heavy spark-pulse._

_There was no hope, no sanctuary._

_So he did the only thing he could. He prayed. He prayed and begged and pleaded to every deity, every omnipotent force he had ever heard of for someone to take him and his away from their cruel, sadistic master. Even if they only took his family unit away, he’d take it. If only so that his own would be safe._

_But nobody came to save them._

_Nobody was willing to risk their own hides to steal them away from such a powerful mech._

_/-/-/_

_His brother was gone._

_His innocent, sweet little sparkling brother was gone,_ **_taken_ ** _, and he hadn’t been able to stop it._

_So he ran away. Ran away from the creators that traded_ **_him_ ** _to placate a debt, from the creators who didn’t care about anything but to keep some energon in their tanks. It didn’t take long to get used to scavenging in the streets. To dull his emotions and to let cold, hard logic take its place. It was easier that way. Better._

_Now he no longer was alone._

_But as his only friend fell deeper into the thrall of the dreaded red crystals, he no longer was able to keep doing that._

_He abandoned hope, but hope wasn’t finished with him._

_/-/-/_

The former human looked around the hab unit with relief and a tiny flicker of pride from behind his visor. He had just found himself a small, cramped one-room apartment that was mostly a berth too small for his frame, a tiny wash-racks that he mercifully didn’t have to stoop in, and a few meagre storage units. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could afford. Sam was inordinately proud of this relatively small achievement. An old daydream of his before the Autobots came into his life was getting his own place. He’d be roommates with Miles, and they’d spend the day decorating and staying up all night for movie marathons and maybe a little alcohol, and it’d be- it would be great. The reminder of his old friend soured the mood. He missed that quirky, humourous almost-brother of his. 

He shook his helm to clear his processor of such thoughts. The Allspark purred as it curled around his consciousness, an encouraging warmth at the back of his mind. It was even more curious about living than he could ever imagine. Even the smallest of experiences brought a trill of delight through the being. When he had asked about it, it had admitted to having never had a living ‘vessel’ before. The thought of it having ‘lived’ its entire ‘life’ inside a box made his spark clench. It was hard to be mad at such innocent pleasure and childish zeal. 

On the bright side, he had found a job working at the shipping docks, loading cargo from the warehouses.

His boss and coworkers seemed to be a bit suspicious at first, but were beginning to warm up to him. Probably had to do with how made sure to actually do what he was paid for and didn’t complain about a little extra work. He had been raised to have a good work ethic, and he made sure to stick to it. A way to honour the father he would never have the chance to say goodbye to.

When the shifts were over he would usually spend his free time exploring the city. It was nice to get used to his new body. He was surprised by how many took him for an upper-class mech but didn’t bother with dissuading them. Didn't know why anyone would think that. It wasn't as if he were putting on any airs, after all. He merely acted the way he normally would. Treat others the way that you'd want to be treated and all that, yaddah yaddah yaddah. 

Personally, he just took it as don't be a brat. Easy enough.

His first encounter with a little Gamma, Mimic, was during one of these explorations of his when Mimic tried to hack into his subspace. The equivalent of a pickpocket back on his home planet, it seemed. The poor youngling was so dirty, and clearly needed some sort of fuel. He had that street rat look which told of living on the streets and fighting for his life on a daily basis. Nobody should have to go through such an experience. He had just placed a heavy servo on his shoulder and taken him out for some energon. The young thief(so young, too young to be on the streets, so young and frail and _hungry_ that it made his spark hurt) was wisely suspicious at first (what ordeals had he faced so that his instincts immediately geared towards distrust? On second thought, he didn’t want to know), testing him to figure out his intentions though most of them flew right over his helm, but good conversation and a few cubes of energon seemed to calm his distrust if only marginally.

The Allspark, after he had asked about the youngling’s unease, explained the rigid caste system plaguing Cybertron in a subdued, uncomfortable manner. Much like someone may speak of the genocide of an entire race or deep terrible discrimination. The Superior Elite were the top of the top, the Primes and High Lord Protectors and leaders. Naturally, this included Sentinel(oh how he’d like to see the bastard _burn_ ) and the Council, and the Senate. Then came the Alphas, the nobles of this dystopian world. He was seen as an Alpha apparently. Next up were the Betas, the medics and Enforcers and scientists, basically the bots with important positions that didn’t come with the nobility. Delta was the official ‘working class’, comparable to the lower middle class while Betas were the higher middle class. They were considered the lowest rank save for the Gammas. Gammas were the dirt of society, the scum who did the jobs nobody else wanted to do. The boundaries between castes were strict, not that Sam cared. He was probably going to end up destroying it by the time the Fallen came around anyways.

Stupid rules were fated to be shattered into a gazillion pieces. The Allspark agreed with him on this.

What really confused him though was the ‘genders’, or more specifically the lack of them. Mechs were basically just bulkier bots with slightly different coding. Femmes, on the other hand, tended to be slimmer and more delicate with more complex lines of coding. However, there was a blurring between the already frail lines what with Carrier mechs and Sire femmes, pretty much mechs that could only carry and femmes who could only sire. That wasn’t even taking into account how easily these boundaries were tampered with. Just a minor few modifications and a mech could become a femme if he so desired. What with how his original society was structured around this topic, it was a lot to take in.

The Allspark tried to dumb it down so that he could understand, but even then he could barely wrap his helm around it. So he just shrugged and contented himself with calling femmes ‘she’ and mechs ‘he’. He wasn’t going to really pay attention to caste boundaries anyways, so that problem was resolved. He could practically feel the Allspark in his helm throw imaginary hands in the air and walk away from him in exasperation. Hey, it chose to hide in _his_ processor. It should get used to how teenage human minds worked.

He didn’t even let it get started on bonds and clans and all that stuff. It was just too much information. It could just filter in the data during his recharge. That was totally fine by him. Seekers Trined in threes, sparkmates bonded sparks, sibling bonds were a thing, and you could become Amica Endurae with close friends. That was all he needed to know.

After enough tries with Mimic and outings with the young Gamma(he wasn’t going to let such a young mech _starve_ if he had anything to say about it), the youngling began to introduce him to others of his class. Sam took this as the sign of budding trust that it was and did his best not to bungle it up. And in the end, that was a good thing. 

  
For that was how he found _him_.


	4. Troubled Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First new (cannon) character up to bat!
> 
> Iiiiiiit's.....

_“Oi! Hey, Gene! Get yer aft over here!”_

Sam looked up from where he was hauling crates into a shipping trailer of sorts. He looked down at the Gamma wedged between two crates with an arched brow underneath his visor (turns out he did have optics, they just were hidden underneath his mask. Allspark kept bugging him until he put it back up though. Glitch). It was Sonar, surprisingly enough. He thought the gangly bronze mech didn’t trust him. In fact, the first time Mimic had introduced the two, Sonar had turned in the other direction and slipped into the shadows before disappearing. Not a word, just a cold, silent glare before he was gone. Like he wasn’t worth his time. If it weren’t for his experience at high school, he might have been insulted. But that still didn’t answer the question. What with how the cold bot avoided him like he had Cosmic Rust, he never thought he would actually come to seek him out. What would he dare risk arrest for?

He scanned around him before walking casually over to a crate near the hidden Gamma. Bumblebee had always taught him to have a reason, an alibi. _Sometimes, hiding isn’t what will avoid suspicion. Sometimes it’s the inconspicuous actions made in plain sight that nobody question. It’s being in plain sight with a believable alibi where you can hide best. No one questions an alibi, especially a partially true one._ Sam smirked just the slightest bit. Not that the rest of the Autobots had known about the lessons. He wasn’t sure whether they had been allowed or not, but he also knew that his guardian wanted him to know how to keep himself alive. So that meant unsanctioned Spec. Ops training on the fly. He hefted the crate into his arms nonchalantly. _“What is it, Sonar?”_ He asked in the Iaconian Gamma dialect. He knew he had a bit of an accent, but he didn’t very well care.

_“We found somethin’ under the old steel bridge, somethin’ yah might want to see.”_ The mech paused for a second, likely checking the system that gave him his designation before continuing. _“A… a sparklin’. Glitched most likely, screams whenever any’ne gets near it. When he ain’t hollering, he’s curled up in a ball keening.”_ From the EM field that Sam could teek from this close, it unsettled the smaller mech.

He froze for a nano-second, too small a pause for anything but the most experienced of optics to spot. That description… his spark pulsed painfully, and he expended a bit of concentration to keep the shock out of his EM field. This was important. Very important. _Was it possible… “How long ago was this?”_ His tone had come out sharper than he realised, and Sonar flinched. He sent a flicker of apology out to brush the other’s field.

_“Only a couple ‘ah cycles.”_

_“I have only a joor or so left on my shift. Could you guard him for me until I am able to come over?”_

_“If ya’re sure.”_ He shifted. _“But if there’s trouble, I ain’t gonna stick around for tha ‘Forcers.”_

_“Understood. Thank you.”_ Sam shifted the crate in his arms into a more comfortable position. _“Just out of curiosity, why come to me? From what I gathered, you are not overly fond of me,”_ he said wryly.

_“... ya have tha credits tah take care of the bitlet and ya don’t seem tah care about caste. Figured the best bot to bring for the sparkling would be ya. Better than Enforcers or… the Underground.”_

He gave him one last grateful look as he turned around to place the crate into the freight. It was touching and showed a degree of trust that he had no idea the other had in him. Had he and his interactions made that big of an impression on him? Did the other even realise it? To be honest, he was just relieved that he didn’t hate him. _“Thank you.”_

_“Ya, ya. Ah, doubt ya’ll thank me when tha bitlet screams ya audial off. Now go before ya boss notices ya slackin’ off.”_

_“And Sonar,"_ he said softly. Honest concern bled into his next glyphs. _“Be careful.”_

_“ ‘Course ah will,”_ the wiry mech snorted as he vanished into the shadows as was his whim. _“Ah’m not a bitlet. Ah know how t’ be careful.”_

He watched out of the corner of his visor as he successful left before turning back to the freighter as if nothing happened. His spark clenched in worry. He would be extremely relieved when his shift was finally over…

/-/-/

_There was so much noise. Static and voices boomed in his helm. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He could barely force himself into the fetal position he had forced his frame into. It hurt. He could faintly hear screaming… before realising that it came from himself. It only stopped when they went away, the figures coming towards him. He wanted someone to help him, to fix what was wrong, to turn it off._

_After some time, only one stayed at the very edge of the agonizing range. They waited, watched and stayed. He wasn’t sure how long it took before a presence came close once again._

_But this one was safe, was peaceful. It cloaked him in calmness and warmth. And the best thing was that the pain finally stopped. It picked him up and held him close, and he instinctively knew that this one would keep the pain away._

_The connection was near instantaneous. It clicked seamlessly as if it had always been there just waiting to be found. The last time he had felt such a thing was from his creators before they abandoned him. Before the bond shattered. This one radiated love and soothing peace, that he was precious, that it wasn’t going to let anything happen to him._

_But best of all, he knew that it would keep the painful voices at bay._

_It wasn’t like anything he had felt before._

_He thought it was called… peace._  
/-/-/

He recognized the bitlet instantly. Those big gold optics, that silver and navy paint job peeking out from beneath dirt and rust. The Allspark had shown him to Sam before he had changed. For a second, however, he hadn’t realised just who was that tiny, curled up frame. Then he realised, and with that realisation came an overwhelming urge to _love, protect, precious little spark, PROTECT._

Before he could even realise his own actions, that trembling little protoform was cradled in his arms, helm tucked into his neck cables as he pulsed out _calm, safe, never let harm again, mine._ Soft soothing whispers in his mother language flowed out easily as his field wrapped around the terribly tiny and fragile flicker of life in his embrace.

A softer, smaller field brushed his own, grasping desperately at what he was giving. It clung to him the same way that the frail bitlet physically now grasped him in an iron grip. He let the poor spark do so, even if it felt like he had a starfish just latch onto him like the glass on an aquarium exhibit. And Sam felt firsthand of what the creation of a creator/creation bond felt like, how strong it was as the threads intertwined and connected, so strong that it nearly bowled him over.

Any protests he might have had died away, leaving only silent wonder to fill up its space.

“Don’t you worry Soundwave,” he found himself saying. He let himself smile as the precious bundle of what once was a deadly enemy buried himself into his embrace. “You won’t ever be hurt like that again. I have no idea whatsoever on how I’m going to do this, but we’ll do it. We’ll-we’ll make this work.” This was the first true change he had made- the first impact his actions had created. The first that so deeply impacted a life that he had vowed to save. It was beautiful. It was stunning. It was completely nerve-wracking and earth-shattering and definitely breakdown-worthy and he had no idea on what to do next, but he knew he would do whatever it took to fulfil his promise.

“We’ll figure this family thing out. We will- together. I swear it upon my spark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave!


	5. Family Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to be a first-time parent, much more when you're both single and you're still getting used to what you now need.  
> Sam discovers this the hard way.

Turns out, being a first-time parent was  _ really hard _ .

While the human-turned-mech had babysat before(remember Annabelle, anyone?), he quickly learned that it wasn’t the same as dealing with his own kid 24/7. Now he knew why people usually paired up before having a child. It was easier with two pairs of hands(or servos) to lighten the load. And having an Outlier sparkling, as he figured out pretty quickly, was a whole other level of complicated. Whoever thought that he would make a good parent didn’t have their head-or helm-screwed on right. He still stumbled over his own pedes, for Prime’s sake! Not to mention how much he would switch between English and Cybertronian when his emotions were running high. He was pretty sure that most of his coworkers thought that he had some sort of glitch.

The first time he had tried to use his wheels, he had stumbled right into a pile of crates. Turns out it was a lot like roller skating, something that someone with his amount of coordination(too low) should stay far away from. He wasn’t used to flying with those retractable wings of his-there was a reason he kept them retracted most of the time!-or needing energon instead of food. Energon tasted weird, like sweet gooey electricity that was somehow impossibly light at the same time it was heavy. Sometimes he even forgot to refuel! The number of times that Mimic or a coworker had had to push a cube into his servos because he had reportedly begun to sway on his pedes were embarrassingly high. When it had been Sonar who had crept out of the shadows to poke him until he fueled back up, he was mere moments away from just hiding his face in his hands in embarrassment.

Soundwave wasn’t a very fussy bitlet, but he was understandably clingy, and his health was far lower than Sam was comfortable with. It took time, a good new coat of paint, proper sparkling-grade energon and gentle coaxing to nurse him back to health. You wouldn’t  _ believe _ how freaked out he got when Soundwave first started crying for fuel until an exasperated Allspark showed him the sparkling feeding lines in his wrist. Yup, just as weird and freaky as it sounds. Not to mention the proximity problem. When he found out that his field was the only thing protecting his bitlet from his ability when he didn’t know how to control it, he knew he would have to take the little one to work with him.

Thank Primus for sparkling-holds. It was a literally built-in chamber for one’s young so that the creator’s servos were free. He didn’t have the credits to leave his job and Sounders’ telepathy meant no sparkling-sitters or ‘daycare’ as an option.

Not that he trusted anyone to watch over  _ his  _ sparkling while he was at work.

It helped that Soundwave  _ loved _ the sparkling-hold. He would peep and chirp and click as he looked around with bright, curiosity-ladened optics, a sharp contrast from when he was out of it. The first time he had taken the little one to work, his coworkers had stared at the sweet little bitlet with a mixture of amusement and ‘why the holy heck did he bring his bitlet here’. Stares abound, but he pushed it aside with the earned ease of a rebellious teenager.

Once he had explained the situation to his boss, he was given the okay as long as it didn’t hinder his work and Soundwave became the unofficial mascot of the loading dock.

So Sam learned to dilute energon to sparkling-grade, to bring a few cubes along with him to his job with a handful of handmade toys like the ones back home in his subspace, and soon the novelty of seeing a sparkling clicking and cooing in his sparkling-hold wore off. 

When he learned that some Gammas didn’t have inbuilt sparkling-holds, he built a contraption that human parents back on Earth used- a carrier. It caught a few stares but they ultimately agreed to its functionality. Soon it wasn’t uncommon for Gamma creators to tote around their little ones in the carriers. The demand made him a nice hobby. And no, he didn’t charge for them. It was  _ fun _ to get to build something with his hands, and he enjoyed seeing his work put to good use!

However, he knew that Soundwave wouldn’t always be able to depend on him to control his telepathy, simply because the ex-human couldn’t always be there.

Not to mention the panic attacks. During those times that he just became overwhelmed, the Allspark was the only thing to help him cling to sanity. He would never forget the fear and concern from his precious bitlet the first time he had been exposed to it.

For the first few cycles, it was weird to have another entity in his helm. But Sam was nothing if not able to adapt. And the positives would always outweigh the negatives. The Allspark had mostly calmed down on the new experiences, but still had that bright-eyed curiosity, and often would explain anything he didn’t understand. Usually Cybertronian customs. He really didn’t understand half the customs this crazy metal planet had. 

It seemed as if it was preventing him from using its power, and was that a relief, but he had all its knowledge to his disposal. Sometimes he even spent the restless nights listening to the Allspark as it weaved stories in his processor. Not that he would ever admit it.

Whenever he asked it how it was residing in him while at the same time doing its duties, it would just ghost him with a sense of bemusement, as if it were hiding something from him. Eh. As long as it didn’t have to do with his family, the Cube could keep its secrets.

Amid the processoraches, pain and confusion, he surprisingly didn’t regret his choice. Because when he powered down to recharge with the Allspark to keep a look-out so that he and his child could rest safely and his little Soundwave curled up on his chest( _ chassis _ ), the feedback from the other side of his bond made it all worthwhile.

_ Safe. Happy. Love. Creator will protect. Trust. Creator here. Safe. _


	6. The First Skipping Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little look into the mind of another.
> 
> Sam makes his first (unknowingly) important choice.

Sonar didn’t understand this new Alpha.

Sonar didn’t understand this new Alpha  _ at all. _

The mech was an average looking Gamma nowadays. Rusty, dented all over and covered in scratches, an audial horn missing on the left, wires sticking out and sparking once in a while. He couldn’t feel his left breast-plate anymore, and the wheels in his thighs no longer worked. Once, he could faintly remember that he had been the brightest white and deepest black in his caste. His visor, a rather fetching cerulean blue, was the last remnant of his former beauty. Once, mecha would remark that his looks would get him up into at least the Delta caste. Not that it mattered anymore.

He worked in the junkyards just hauling scrap. It was down and dirty, but at least he had a job. He made enough credits to pay for his little bunk underneath a set of stairs, so he had it better than most. Life in the slums wasn’t a choice for a reason- it was hard, there was nobody you could trust with anything you considered valuable, and nobody could trust you back.

Then Genesis came along. Genesis Primoris. Tall, strong, simply beautiful mech, streamlined so highly that it seemed like his armour was a part of his protoform. Attractive, sure, with his pure black colouring all over that even covered his onyx faceplate and those brilliant blue streaks that reminded him of both lightning and Priest sigils. He had a pair of the loveliest doorwing panels on his back that would quiver and flutter with his mood seemingly of their own accord, and his clearly defined dermas twitching up and down to show his emotions better than most mecha could without their field stretched out.

His audials were like wings, with two triangular antennae that would move to whatever sound he heard from underneath the main triangle slab and circle which connected to his rounded visor. There was a vent on top of his helm too. Nobody had ever seen underneath that all-consuming black visor, and not being able to see the light of one’s optics unnerved him. 

He had five fingers, and his pedes, which were framed by delicate metal wheels on each side, were narrow with the slab on front divided into two separate plates, though the one on the outside was far wider than its counterpart. When he walked, he had a certain grace to his steps when he wasn’t being clumsy, and his wheels when in use elevated the main pedes off the ground so that they were perfectly level. His frame was on the slim side for a mech, and the amount of weight he had was better suited to a flyer’s, even though he had never seen Gene have any wings.

But he looked like a noble.

That was the big problem. The thing that Sonar just couldn’t figure out. And when he couldn’t figure things out, he got… jittery. He looked like a noble, he kept his frame clean, it was clear that he or his creators had to have had the credits to afford such a frame, he was obviously refined and educated, he spoke like a noble would, though not an arrogant one, but he treated Gammas as if they were his equals and if he were not superior! He helped them when they asked or needed it, he took a shine to the younglings, he even acted like he enjoyed their company!

And he took in that glitched little sparkling that nobody else could get close to, and fragging did all the paperwork so that the bitlet was legally his own! Without even the slightest inclination of a second thought. He treated the little one as if he had sparked him himself.

He was kind, he was generous, he was gentle, he was considerate, his manners were impeccable, he-he-gah! He was a complete and utter mystery! Nobody had heard hide or plate of him before! And someone like that was sure to be included in anyone’s gossiping. Despite how he appeared, he sometimes would begin to speak in this strange, lilting, almost musical language that no-one could understand, or do something completely alien like-like- shake someone’s hand up and down! Sure, he had stopped doing that, but a bunch of other things always crowded up in its place.

Gene was glitched. It was the only proper explanation.

But when Sonar was trying to get away from two slaggers that decided to try using him like a pleasurebot before tossing his dismembered frame to the side in their sick games, Gene had saved his life. He had snatched him, shoved him into an empty alleyway with his sparkling, then knocked both thugs offline with the butt of a huge blindingly white Greatsword, one that he used as if it was part of his very frame. The sword was almost as long as its wielder was tall, with a wide blade which was as wide as two servos in length. It was plain, but deadly, with only the signature jewel at the centre of its handle for decoration. It said a lot about Gene that he was able to hold himself back from killing them though, an iron control on himself.

He’s been too much in shock to thank him, but the noble had just gently placed his bitlet into his sparkling-hold and steered him away to Gunner’s usual hidey hole. There he bought the Gamma a cube of actually good high-grade and left. All this without a single word spoken.

Which meant that Sonar owed him a life-debt.

Stupid misclocked Alpha.

Probably didn’t even realise the consequences of his actions, the idiot.

He could have lost those mechs in a few more kliks… 

(He really just didn’t want to admit that he was grateful to still have his life.)

/---/

The first time that Sam actually started to really fulfil his duties as Prime, the Allspark had to lead him into an abandoned street. He had followed without much thought because he knew whatever it wanted had to be important. It rarely asked or demanded anything, preferring to more go to the flow and to suggest ideas, remaining in the background while still in front enough to experience life. When he spotted those sleazy mechs that smelled of too much high-grade and charred wiring, he didn’t need the Cube to tell him what was going on. 

He wasn’t sure how he had pulled that huge fraggin’ sword from subspace, but he had. The young mech had dumped Soundwave into Sonar’s arms, pushed them into an adjacent alley, and then faced off against the two assailants. 

His first instinct, pushed forwards by the Allspark, was a clean decapitation for Thug #1 and a slice through the spark chamber for the second. He could visualise exactly what he would need to do for those manoeuvres, and he knew that his frame would be able to execute it. But he held himself back. Killing them wouldn’t be like with Megatron. This wasn’t war, and neither was it in self-defence. Not really. They were dirty slaggers, but he couldn’t kill them.

So he did the next best thing. Two executive bops on the back of the helm where it meets the neck, and both were out cold. Good. The threat was neutralised, at least for now. He took a second to learn their names and took a picture of each before putting his sword away. He’d need that information, information the Cube was all too glad to help deliver.

When he turned back to Sonar and Soundwave, he made sure to take his son and tuck him away into his hold. Soundwave was cooing and chirping, ever curious and cheerful. The poor mech who had been holding him, however, looked like he was in shock. Not surprising, given how he had almost been assaulted for some reason that he was quite sure Sonar very well knew. Sam gently steered him to Gunner and bought him a cube of high-grade before leaving for home. The poor guy looked like he could use it. And Gunner was a good mech, trustworthy and one of the most honest of his caste. He knew he could depend on the Gamma to take care of the shell-shocked mech.

Getting back to his little apartment was easy. After locking the door, he set Soundwave on the berth with a little cube of sparkling-grade and made his way to the computer terminal.

His search for information went well into the night, but he soon got what he needed. An anonymous tip-off was sent to the Enforcers of the region about two ruffians guilty of murder and battery of assault on a Beta, along with proof that they had been involved in some… less than legal business. He then turned off the terminal and crawled into the berth with his now-recharging bitlet. The Allspark gave off grudging admittance on his way of doing things. He smirked, before settling off into recharge himself. An arm tightened around his sparkling.

An old memory echoed in the back of his mind.

_ Welcome to the Ranks of Prime, Genesis. _


	7. Singing In The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S: "What do you MEAN there's no music on Cybertron?"  
> A: "PLEASE DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENGER!"
> 
> Alternate Summary: Sam finds out that a vital part of his home culture is missing. He seeks to rectify this, if only with his own child. Meanwhile, the Allspark is just trying to not piss him off even more.

Something that both surprised and horrified Sam when he learned of it was that Cybertron didn’t really have music. They had Praxian Crystals, which hummed and did something  _ like _ singing, but that was as close to true music as it got. That was it. Nothing else, nada, zero, zilch. He was surprised because it was difficult to comprehend a whole planet without music, what with what a big part of Earth culture it was. He was horrified because there was  _ no music on the entire planet he was living on _ . These mecha had no idea what they were missing out on.

_ “What!” _ Thankfully, Soundwave was napping, and they were in the apartment at the moment. “How can an entire civilisation  _ not _ have music! I mean, sure, I’ve never been a huge music fanatic or a musician or something, but even I liked to listen to the radio top forty while driving!” Actually, now that he thought about it, it did explain Bumblebee’s love of songs. In fact, all of the Autobots had liked to listen to music as if it were some wonderful oddity. 

The Allspark seemed to wince, before explaining.  _ Music, the way you know of it, isn’t exactly a Cybertronian thing. Not anymore at least. None of my children ever considered it. We aren’t your humans, dear vessel. We don’t invent things just for fun’s sake or because it sounds nice. _

“Music isn’t just ‘for fun’s sake’! It’s an integral part of our society! Our brains thrive on it! You can transmit stories, emotions, things that you can only refer to!  _ How do you not have music? _ ” No, he was not ranting. He wasn’t. Okay, maybe he was. But only a little bit! And anyway, he was pretty sure that he deserved to make his point. “Oh, god. You transported me to a time and place where music doesn’t exist. Oh, no no no no no. I won’t have it. I refuse! If you and I don’t somehow fix this monumental mistake,  _ I will personally rip you out of my processor and clobber you into  _ **_next week_ ** _! _ ”

_ Don’t you think that you might be overreacting just a tad? _ His roiling EM field grew ever darker, and he threw a metaphorical rock at its metaphorical head. It ‘ducked’ just in time. A whimper came out.  _ Nevermind. You know what, I think I’ll just go… there, until you cool off. I don’t want to end up killed by one of my Heralds, thank you very much. So… bye! _

He growled as it scooted away to some dark, safe part of his mind to do just that. Coward. Now he was stuck by himself to discover a way to spread music, or-or something. Gah. What a mess he had gotten himself into.

Cool down. Yeah. Maybe he should just think about something else for a bit. Yeah. Like… the Soundwave Control problem. The ex-human’s field would only work temporarily. The tyke would have to learn how to control his telepathy eventually. Okay, now what would… Oh. Oh, no. If music didn’t exist on Cybertron, that meant Soundwave never heard music before. Oooooh no, that would not do. That would not do in the slightest. No kid of  _ his  _ was going to go their entire life  _ not _ knowing about music.

Music, Soundwave. Soundwave. Sound… Music. An annoying song that gets stuck in your head and drives you mad. That was it! Soundwave was telepathic! Give him something to zero in on, and eventually, he’ll be able to zone all outside interference out! A totally half-baked plan, but you know the saying. Kill two birds with one stone, right?

“Soundwave, let’s play a game.” The sparkling in question shifted towards him, shuttering his golden optics blearily. Sam went over to the energon dispenser to get them both some fuel. He gently lay the bitlet-sized cube next to his little one. He slowly sat himself up and cupped his servos around the comparably big cube. The kid had pretty good coordination already, far better than Sam himself. He was impressed. The mech ran through his memories and picked a relatively simple song to start, a lullaby. 

You are my sunshine. The song brought back quite a few now-bittersweet memories from his own mom singing it to him. Then he just edited out the vocals a bit-wouldn’t do to have the kid ask any awkward questions about English, though he would already probably have to deal with it. 

“The game is called Spotlight. I’m going to  _ sing _ a  _ song _ , specifically one called a  _ lullaby _ , and you have to go into my head and then bounce back the name of the song. I’ll change what song it is each time you tell me what’s the name. It’ll be a… guessing game of sorts, except it’s perfectly fine to ‘cheat’ with your Outlier ability. Okay?” Yeah, Sounders probably only understood that because of his telepathy and their bond. Sam didn’t have a clue what he was talking about either, but it was a start.

He had been winging it this far. What was the worst that could happen?

/---/

Soundwave  _ adored _ Spotlight. Sam would Sing a certain song and then Soundwave would send its name back and they would pretty much go to and fro with it, him with the actual music and the tike with the names and other trivia, and then Soundwave made a little deviation in the game, changing a little section when he got bored and parroting it back. Then after a minute or so of this, the game would revert to normal. The bitlet was good, too. He might make a feasible DJ in the future. Still. At his age, Soundwave’s processor wasn’t exactly equipped to multi-task very much, so he needed to put the spotlight on the music- hence the name.

One thing that he learned while doing this was that his sparkling  _ loved _ to hear him sing. His voice was different from when he was human  _ (then again, what wasn’t?) _ but now it actually sounded half-tolerable while he sang. Not like a dying cat being murdered in the worst ways possible. The first song that Soundwave heard, he knew that he waited until the older mech was done singing the lullaby in  _ full _ before answering. 

Needless to say, lullabies joined the bedtime ritual instantaneously.

He shook his helm clear before returning to his work. The Cube was still hiding away, no doubt in fear of his earlier threat, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel guilty. He had meant what he said. And the damn Allspark knew what it had been getting into beforehand. Sam returned his attention to the crates and sighed. Technically, his job wasn’t to make sure each crate got from point A to point B. He was supposed to be down there hauling crates to where they needed to be. But the supervisor snapped a strut and had to go to a medic, and he slapped him with the job despite his protests.

Sam scowled. “I never even wanted to be dumped with this job,” he complained.

_ Creator upset? _ Soundwave poked back. He was very attentive to his surrogate creator’s emotions and now was no exception.

“Nah, just annoyed. I mean seriously, I-hey! Rivet, that crate is supposed to go to the pile on the left, not the right! -I’m not suited for this stuff in the slightest.” Sam never actually ‘got’ how to talk to kids. So he just talked like he would to an equal. Soundwave understood him, and that was what mattered. “Good grief. I really can’t wait until-oi! Rivet, left, not right! Wrong pile! Again-this is over. I just hope that Skipper comes back soon. How does he deal with this?”

/---/

Later on, Sam and Skipper ended up talking on how bad the cycle went.

“Well, everything looks to be in order.”

Sam rolled his optics under his visor. “Yeah sure, except for Rivet’s sense of direction.”

“... I had a medic take a look at his navigational systems. They’re all in perfect working order. Mint condition, if you couldn’t believe it.”

“Wait… seriously?”

“You can ask Rivet if you don’t believe me.” Skipper turned his attention back to his datapad.

“And he still can’t tell his left from his right?” The young ex-human squinted, though nobody could tell. “Are you sure he doesn’t suffer from some kind of glitch? Or that he isn’t just putting us on to mess with our helms?”

Skipper’s engine rumbled in amusement. “So how many times did you have to point him in the right direction?”

“Fifty-six.”

“Only fifty-six?” The Delta supervisor’s field flared disbelievingly. “That count is normally at least three times as high. How in the Allspark’s name did you manage that?”

Sam rubbed the back on his neck cables sheepishly, helm pointed down at his pedes. “... I eventually just got fed up and wrote left and right on the backs of his servos. I just hope he doesn’t end up washing the paint off without reapplying those same words.”

“Damn. Why didn’t I think of that? You know what? I’ll make a bet. If this sticks, I’ll take you and your bitlet out for a cube. On me.”

“Just never give me your job again. Please. That would be gratitude enough.” In quieter mumbles, “I swear I almost blew a gasket from that slag…”

“You did a good job at it though.”

“You do a far better job,” the Alpha shot back. “Welp, I should be going. Lots of things to do. You know, sparklings to raise, inane wandering to do, the city to explore, invisible stuff to trip over…”

So there. Spotlight: a smashing success. Musical education: working out very well. Solving the Rivet problem: perfect. He only mixed up his directions six more times after writing those glyphs down. Overall: a complete triumph.


	8. A Matter Of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ripple in the pond, a new name, and the Allspark is a possessive, prideful little aft.

_“The boy’s pheromone levels suggest he wants to mate with the female.”_

_“Give me the Cube, and I’ll let you live as my pet!”_

_“The Matrix of Leadership cannot be found, it must be earned.”_

_“Sunny! No no no, Sunny no! Please!”_

_“Permission to terminate the rodent, Prime sir?”_

_“Sam, I owe you my life. We are in your debt.”_

_“Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?”_

_“I wish to stay with the boy.”_

Sam started out of his trance at his bitlet’s insistent poke. He swatted the little digit playfully, and Soundwave fell over backwards on the soft berth with a frankly adorable beep of surprise. The sparkling was directly in front of him as they both sat on their berth. They had been in the middle of a Spotlight session, he remembered. His little one had been curious about music, and he had let him listen to a few popular songs with any swearing edited out. He had found himself reminiscing about his life on Earth again.

_‘I miss them_ ,’ he realised. Of course he did, he already knew that, but it still sent a pang of hurt shooting through his spark. It was honestly the first time he had had the chance to think about it, and now that there weren’t really any distractions, the loss of his old life on Earth, of Mikaela and the Lennox family and his parents were just starting to sink in. ‘ _Stop with the pity party,’_ he chastised himself, ‘ _you knew what you were getting into. You gave them up. Quit complaining already.’_ No Mom or Dad, no Mojo, no Miles or Mikaela… ‘ _If Megatron never reaches Earth, will humanity still have the same technology? Will my parents still have a kid? Will they still name him or her Sam Witwicky? Or will I have never existed? Stop wondering, it’s not like you’ll ever figure it out.’_ Sam let his visor retract as he ran his servo down his face. The unfamiliar-yet-now-right metal both soothed and grounded him. _‘Stop it before you drive yourself towards another panic attack…’_

‘Bang! Bang!’ Loud knocking rang out through the apartment. “ _Gene, y’there?! Please, please please open up_ -”

Startled yet again out of his inwards downwards spiral, Sam swung his legs over the side of the berth and hauled himself up. Soundwave chirped in question as he hurried over to the door. “ _Mimic? What’s wrong? Is something the matter?_ ”

His apartment lay in a ‘better’ neighbourhood, which pretty much translated into the less run-down part, but he was still in Gamma territory. Still, it was a bit of a surprise to meet the young thief here. He hadn’t given his address out to anyone out of paranoia for his sparkling, so how did-?

Mimic was all sharp angles and no curves, like a spikier Sideswipe without the wheels and far more petite. His fins reminded him of Jolt while his helm otherwise looked like Ironhide’s but younger. Underneath all the rust and grime he could very faintly make out chipped blue and an orangey-gold faceplate. He also had a useless optic because of a run-in with the Enforcers that sparked when it was jostled too badly.

“ _Gene…_ ” the youngling wavered for a few seconds as if he were getting cold pedes all of a sudden before pulling up a brave face and barrelling through. “ _When you met me, y’told me I could come for help if I had any problems…_ ” 

Sam immediately got to the point. “ _What do you need_?”, he asked brusquely. 

No matter if Mimic didn’t know it, but over the time the Prime had spent with the youngling, he had come to think of him as _his._ Just like the Autobots on Earth had been. Just like Soundwave was now and that Sonar was well on his way to be. And Gene didn’t like to see his own hurt, much less _this desperate_. He would do anything to relieve the mechling of his burden.

It was as if his response was all that was needed for the dam to break. “ _Three hundred creds. Ah woul’n a came to ya if it weren’t important, but I din’t know who else tah turn to and if ah don’t do_ **_sumthin’_ ** _the debt collectors are gonna take a third frame for_ **_parts-_ **” The last bit broke off into a keen. His glyphs were desperate, pleading, yet he was cringing away as if waiting to be hit.

A third frame… but that was just a youngling! _‘Just a child,’_ he thought. His energon churned in his tanks uneasily. But he made sure his vocals stayed steady, to calm Mimic down a bit at least. “ _Please, a moment Mimic. Let me get this straight. There are debt collectors threatening to harm a youngling if they don’t receive at least three hundred credits to pay the debt?_ ”

“ _S all the truth, Gene, ah swear-_ ”

“ _Take it._ ”

Mimic’s vents stalled, optic widening at the chip suddenly pushed into his thin servos. Cybertronian credits were like gift or credit cards a bit-they were small flat thin and rectangular metal chips with a little screen. Their monetary value went up or down according to the number on the screen. When creds were added the number went up, and vice versa. The chip Sam had just shoved into his grasp was worth three hundred and ninety-six creds.

“ _Must I repeat myself? I told you to_ **_take it_ ** .” _It’s a gift for you._

“ _Y’... y’ would actu’lly…_ ” 

“ _You did not believe that I would._ ” That part was stated as a fact, not as a question. Sam got the sinking feeling in his tanks that he knew the answer, and didn’t that paint a pretty picture of this world’s society?

“ **_O’ course not_ ** _! Ah would’a been glitched t’a hope for_ **_half_ ** _as much in t’ slums! Ah thought ah would maybe only get a quartah if ev’n that!_ ”

“ _Mimic. Take it and go. Pay off the debt collectors._ ”

For a few kliks, there was silence. Stunned on one side, and fueled with sheer determination and all the reckless stubbornness of a teenager on the other.

“ _Ah…_ ” He nodded and tucked it away in subspace. “ _We all owe y’ one._ ”

“ _No._ ” The young thief looked up with his one eye wide. “ _It’s a gift, from me to you. Every last credit._ ”

Another short pause of silence. Mimic’s voice trembled when he spoke again. “ _Y’… y’ insane, y’know that, eh, Gene?_ ” Disbelief and awe pulsed outwards in his field. What had the poor youngling gone through so that a simple act of kindness and just normal goodwill was so rare to find?

Sam brushed out a flare of amusement tinged with self-deprecating irony against the younger’s field, not close enough to appear invasive but just enough to be seen as friendly. “ _It’s the crazy that’s what makes life interesting, is it not?_ ”

Mimic suddenly bowed, making Sam stumble back a few steps to clear some room. His left arm was crossed over his chassis in a formal show of respect. “ _Ya got m’ thanks,_ **_Vivicanternus_ ** _(life-giving miracle of the peoples)_ **_._ ** _Me’n all o’ us. I din’ know wheth’r ah could trust yeh before, but y’ have it now._ ” _I would give up my life for you._

The single surrogate creator was left shaken at his doorway as the youngling streaked away into the shadows. Did he even know the relevance of what he had just done? _Names have meaning, Sam. To be given more than one is one of the highest honours. It stays with one forever._

  
Inside his spark chamber, the Allspark purred as it wrapped tighter around his spark. _Genesis Prime, Vivicanternus, miracle of the masses. Fitting for one such as_ **_my_ ** _vessel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this at the end of this chapter's first publication, and I'm gonna do it now for any newcomers because I think we really need to clear some stuff up. What do we need to clear up?
> 
> Names.
> 
> Now, names are extremely important for Transformers, as we'll call them simply because, in this fanfiction, the colonies exist. They exist and they thrive. So this will take into account Cybertron and all its colonies. A name is a representation of who one is, and each means something important to the person in question. There are a few types of names a Transformer can have.
> 
> First, there's the 'origin' name. This is the name one's created with, and for many, it is one they carry for their entire lives. Unless specified otherwise, this name is the 'official one' and used in legal documents and the like.
> 
> For example:
> 
> Genesis Primoris: Beginning the first anew  
> Mimic: One who shifts to hide in plain sight  
> Sonar: Silent sound to see without eyes  
> Skipper: Local leader of great renown  
> Soundwave: Unstoppable wave of sound through all barriers  
> Orion Pax: Hunter of Peace  
> Ironhide: One who protects those who cannot themselves with his own frame
> 
> The first name can be changed to something else, but you have to either be very careful or ask the Allspark for permission, along with your reasoning. Jazz did this and was successful. D-16 changed to Megatronus this way as well, save he sort of did it without permission from the priests and guards. He can be sneaky when he wants to be.
> 
> The second name relevant here is when someone gets elevated to a certain status. This includes Primes, High Lord Protectors, High Priests and Priestesses, and so on. This replaces the old 'origin name' unless they end up either being removed from or renouncing their title and position. Very, very important and rare.
> 
> Examples:
> 
> Optimus Prime (obviously): One who leads unfailingly towards favourable outcomes for the people  
> Megatron: One who leads with passion towards victory in battle  
> Sentinel Prime: One who watches and stands guard, though he pretends it's One who stands guard and leads  
> Iceblade, the current High Priestess: Slashing with the icy winds to protect the people  
> Genesis Prime: One who shall begin a people anew with compassion long lost and life abound
> 
> Iceblade is an OC I created for the story, but she will be an important ally in chapters to come. And as you can see, the meanings behind these names can be very long. Sam's Prime name, as you can see, signifies that he isn't really supposed to go to battle with swords but instead with his words, not that he isn't going to get into physical altercations.
> 
> The third and last kind that I have so far. The given name.  
> Now, most of us humans answer to given names, the names given to us by our parents or guardians, but a given name for a Transformer is a pretty big deal. So far I only have one instance in this story, but others still get them. They're even rarer than the type above because they're the sort of thing not given lightly. Megatron probably got one, same with Optimus, but they're a pretty big deal.
> 
> Vivicanternus, life-giving miracle of the peoples. Peoples, as in plural, because Sam doesn't give a flying rat's ass about the caste system except that it's frellin' annoying. Life-giving because he saved a youngling from death, and miracle because, well, I'll let Vapour tell you in the next chapter. A very big deal. If Sam was well-merged into the Gamma society before, then now the respect for him and his infamy has just gone way up. This will be the name used on him when Gammas are talking about him. He's pretty much just accidentally become the champion for their people.
> 
> Meanwhile, Sam's just bumbling around life trying to make sure his sparkling stays well and happy while the Allspark prepares the next move. Checkmate.


	9. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ripples are beginning to become waves in the oceans of fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning!*  
> There's a scene of torture and implied non-con in the last scene. If that sets off any triggers or makes you uncomfortable. Just look at the endnote to see if there was something important that you ended up missing. It is not worth reading past the second stop-line (/---/) to catch a trigger! I don't want anyone hurt by this story!

Mimic was a simple mech with simple tastes. He had to be, to be content as a Gamma thief. He liked his low-grade and the few creds he ‘earned’ along with keeping his frame in one piece. No good medic would take a Gamma as a patient, so that last bit was just good ole survival instinct. 

To protect his hide, he had a few simple rules that he always followed. 

One; stay the heck away from the Enforcers. This rule was first created after his first run-in with the government-backed slaggers. He had just stolen a little from a high-end Beta when he ran smack into one such slagger. And, well, there was a reason he only had one functioning optic anymore. Enforcers were not to be trusted; easy.

Two; same as above, but with the Underground. The Underground wasn’t an actual physical thing, but rather a name to call the darker, dirtier side of the slums. This guideline the young mech stuck to even more than the one above. Addicts often lined the streets in the ‘bad places’ of the slums, and yes, there was a ‘good place’ and a ‘bad place’. The ‘good part’ was bad enough- but nobody wanted to go to the ‘bad part’. That made it perfect for dealers to sell circuit boosters, such as Syk, all the way to simultronics. Everyone knew to steer clear of that place. Just- just don’t go there.

Rule #3 was the one that Mimic flicked to the sideway too much; don’t screw around with nobles or higher. The last time someone did that, Enforcers were crawling all over the slums for weeks, and the culprit ended up a broken mess. Poor mech later died from his wounds because nobody would help patch him up.

However, nobles always had the best stuff to take for a thief like Mimic. He prided himself on how good he was at pickpocketing. And then he went after the wrong subspace.

Getting caught trying to take the tall, clearly powerful and older mech’s Energon and credits were both surprising and terrifying. He had clearly become too cocky, and so was getting sloppy. He had been utterly terrified that he was going to be turned over to the Enforcers for what he had done. Enforcers naturally looked down on Gamma criminals, and a few, in particular, liked him as their personal punching bag. But instead of reacting the way any spiffy, over-pompous Alpha usually acted, the admittedly gorgeous mech had remained calm and gentle, told him that ‘ _ he merely had to ask _ ’, and steered him towards a bar. Then he proceeded to buy the bewildered youngling all the energon he wanted, along with extra ‘ _ for the road _ ’.

Mimic, in all of this, was naturally suspicious. Nobody was this generous in the slums, not unless they wanted something. But Gene-as he learned his unexpected benefactor’s designation was- certainly didn’t  _ act _ like they were in the slums. Soon he was engaging him in stimulating conversation, answered any question of his with honesty he had never actually seen before, and acted as if they were equals. It was like he was actually like he was just trying to get him relaxed. This effort just made the thief even more suspicious.

And yet, despite Mimic’s veiled insults and unfriendly behaviour _ (boy was that mech oblivious, half of those insults would have gotten him slagged by anyone else, even another Gamma) _ , Gene just kept coming back to buy him more energon no matter where he was, talking to him in that strangely honest, polite way of his, then eventually even teaching him how to read!

So Mimic decided to let him meet more Gammas to see how he would act with them. And here’s the kicker-  _ his actions never changed _ . He was always kind, accommodating, gentle, polite and patient with anyone he socialized with, and even with his lilting nonsensical mumbles and glitching, he managed to stay humble and kind. He was always there to lend a helping servo, whether the task was to correct their illiteracy or even just to help haul materials for a shelter.

In this matter, Mimic agreed with Sonar. Gene was glitched. It was the only explanation that made even the slightest bit of sense. An Alpha living in the Gamma Sector, working in the loading docks with Deltas and adopting a glitched little Gamma bitlet? Yup. Not to mention, sometimes he talked of things no other bot could understand or speak in a language that nobody could crack.

But at least Gene wouldn’t try to take a third frame for parts. Vapour and her youngling Gears were good friends of Mimic and were struggling with the debt that Gears’ missing sire left them. Then the debt collectors came, threatening to take Gears’ life. All the Gammas had pooled a total of sixty creds, but they needed at least three hundred more.

Only Gene could have that many creds.

What he did next was just a blur in the youngling’s frazzled mind. He could remember the panic, slamming against a clean black door, a black visor and a gentle field. Peeps, glyphs being spoken, pleading that he barely recognized as his own tumbling from his own vocaliser, a chip with an alarmingly high number, a gift. What stood out most was the kind concern and self-deprecating amusement,  _ it’s a gift _ , and the new name he had given.  _ Vivicanternus. _ It… fit.

And then he was running, running running, the chip weighing down in is subspace, then skidding to a stop in Vapour’s crumbling abode just as the collectors were dragging away a struggling Gears. He pushed the chip into their servos, and red optics narrowed. “Leave it. We have what we came for.”

With that, they were gone.

“Y’paid em off in whole?”, Vapour asked in disbelief, hugging her youngling tightly. Gears whimpered into her neck cables as he tried to fuse himself to her side. The collectors were like wraiths or ghosts, sparkeaters even, but even more frightening. At least the monsters listed before were only following their nature, not doing what they did to cause as much pain and suffering with a cold, clinical gaze.

Mimic just nodded as his processor came down from his rush. He felt numb, then thudded down on his aft-plating. What just happened finally crashed down on him like a wave.

“Who’d we owe?”

“None. Gene gave it as a gift.”

There was silence.

Gears spluttered. “But no sane bot gives that much creds in th’ slums! He coulda called a spark-debt or somethin’!”

“Ah told em that. He just wanted ta protect yeh. That’s it.”

“But-but bots don’t just  _ do _ that in th’ slums!”

“Gene did,” Mimic shot back. The numbness was wearing off, and he faintly recognized that he was trembling. “Crazy, crazy mech.”

“Primus bless em,” Vapour vented. Her arms tightened around her son as if she were afraid that he was going to disappear into thin air. Now, with what had just happened, Mimic wouldn’t be surprised if he did. “Primus-Primus bless em.”

“Ah thought yeh said tha’ Primus din’ exist?”

“All the ev’dence proved otherwise b’fore. Now, though… miracles just don’ happ’n in th’ slums.”

“Yeah…” And finally, some missing puzzle piece clicked into place. Maybe Gene wasn’t really glitched… maybe he was a miracle.

/---/

In the very middle of Iacon’s great city, there lay the crown jewel-the Temple of the Allspark. The cathedral was all of the elite and alpha’s sheer decadence, made of shining silver-white metal and studded with gemstones. On the outside, it was seen as a majestic oasis of peace and prosperity, perfect in every way as befitting the Source of All Sparks.

Inside was a whole other story.

A tall older mech garbed in a glowing blue cloak with a pattern of diamonds and covered in pulsing blue sigils all over his armour to signify his rank stalked the beauteous halls. Priests, acolytes and guards scrambled to make way for the fuming scarlet Prime. It was for the best. Everyone remembered the lifeless, rusted out frame of the one who didn’t get out of his way fast enough. His cosmic rust cannons were lethal. Anyways, the situation he was facing made his wrath understandable.

A regal femme with optics of silver and swirling silver-blue glyphs that trailed up her shoulder, gauntlet and side all the way from her right strolled on beside him, attempts to pacify the Prime rolling off her silver glossa like coolant. Her servo rested on the decorative silver-white sword at her side despite it merely being for show-for the most part.

“My Prime,” she simpered. The scarlet mech jerked his burning gaze to her, and she seemed to almost wilt under the force of his glare. “I’m sorry. None of my acolytes or priests has been able to track the Cube’s energy after it disappeared-was stolen, my Prime.” She corrected herself just in time.

The Prime’s scowled deepened. “Then find it! The Allspark was here because this temple was seen as unimpeachable, and the public could come to see it! Do you know how much my reputation will fall if anyone realises that the Allspark’s energy has been taken by an unknown assailant?” His voice became a hiss. “If you do not correct this error and soon, it will be your helm mounted on the wall, High Priestess Iceblade!”

The duly named Iceblade flinched. Her Prime huffed before he pushed open the doors with a grand flourish. Inside mecha in white and black were crawling all over the scene. Enforcers. This was the greatest heist to have ever been made in Cybertronian history. The fact that the Allspark’s energy never would have left if it didn’t wish to was unsaid but rang through everyone’s processors.

In the very middle lay the Cube. What once floated a few feet up in the air and whose sigils glowed with power unlike any other now lay on the actual pedestal, markings dark. It was a rather despondent sight to see.

The Prime stayed where he was for a few kliks as if frozen, then tightly turned tail and left the room. The last glimpse High Priestess Iceblade could see of Sentinel Prime as he stalked away was a teek of a dark roiling field tucked close which made her cringe. A sigh rolled off her dermas as they twisted into a sneer for but a klik then faded back into a neutral mask. Sentinel was not fit to be Prime in her optics, not with how he treated those around him. A true Prime would protect his people, place the people before themselves. Then she turned back to direct and aid the locating of the Allspark, as was her duty, not that the current Prime seemed to know what duty meant.

She did not envy whoever that wrath ended up being directed towards.

/---/

In a loading dock around the edges of Iacon, Sam sneezed.

“You okay there, Gene?”, Skipper asked. 

Sam nodded. “I’m fine. Just a sneeze.” In quieter mumbling, he switched to English. “Why do I have the feeling that someone’s talking about me behind my back?” The Allspark stayed suspiciously silent, with just a few muffled giggles. Never mind. He really didn’t want to know.

/---/

A cry rang out in a darkened interrogation room. Two roughed-up mechs lay chained to the wall in front of a pristine black-and-white mech with cold red optics. “We already told ya all we know!”, the one on the left sobbed out. Plating lay scattered on the floor, and his bared protoform was covered in whip markings that oozed out processed energon. 

“Repeat yourself, then,” the Enforcer and Interrogator replied, vocals cold enough to freeze a smelting pit. His digits fingered the energon-soaked energy whip in his servos. He raised it again when the thug hesitated and slammed it down onto an open wound. His screams echoed all through the soundproofed chamber. The other thug, whose optics had been surgically removed without anaesthetics, hollered for the Interrogator to stop.

“Fine, fine! We were goin’ after this fine little Gamma when this tall ‘posing mech came in, dumped a silver-navy bitlet with gold optics w’th the Gamma and pulled out a huge-aft sword! Then he moved faster than we could see an’ next thing we know, we’re wakin’ up fo’ this torture session!”

“Describe this mech,” the mech ordered, still almost emotionless. Still, he turned away from the sobbing green-copper mech he had been ‘interrogating’ and went to plant a servo hard against the wall next to the speaking criminal’s face, making the charcoal grey mech with basic red biolights flinch at the heard proximity.

“T-tall, slim black mech, with this b-black visor hidin’ ‘em optics, and ‘is armour was black with blue marbled in it, looked almost l-like it fused with ‘is protoform, so def’nitely A-Alpha or least high-up Beta, real looker too, an’ ‘e ‘as wheels around ‘is pedes, and t-three-winged audials!”, the blind mech yelped. Unknown to the thug, the Enforcer smirked.

“Now, was that such a hard thing to do?”, he asked. A servo snaked up to the bulky mech’s side, and his sickening grin grew wider. Deft digits slipped under tightly-jammed plating to play with sensitive wires, and the other servo cast the whip to the floor to cup the prisoner’s interface panel.

And so the following screams became ever higher and more constant so that it went through the walls even though they were supposedly soundproof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the last scene, the important part you need to know is that the two guys who tried to go after Sonar? They just squealed to a rather sadistic Enforcer, not Barricade, about Sam. Oops.
> 
> On another note, this is the last chapter I had to revise. Why? Because it was the last one I had written out before I stopped before. However, the search for Jazz and Prowl will begin in a few chapters, after that promised drink and a little gift that Sam has to make for Sounders. For the sake of the plot. So, three, four chapters?
> 
> Thanks for staying with me, I'll try to churn out those chapters as soon as I can! :)


	10. Drinks On Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipper drags Sam out for drinks.

The days slipped by quickly. The work was hard but honest and fulfilling, he got good credits, and Soundwave continued to be the newfound light of his life. It made his spark clench to think of it that way though, because it reminded him of the woman he loved _(and still did)_ , so he tried to keep that thought away. With each action he took, the loose Gamma community had really opened up to him. Mimic had ended up introducing him to Vapour and her youngling too.

Was that ever so embarrassing.

Vapour was a sweet femme, motherly and there was a will of iron shining in her four lovely almond-shaped purple eyes. She was slight but kept herself relatively clean, as well as her son, and he could actually see her matte grey and black armour. She didn’t have very thick armour though, and she had a bit of a temper, but she showed her emotions easily and honestly, and that was something Sam could respect.

The entire time that he had met the little family, little Gears had hidden behind his carrier’s frame, bright gold optics watching him curiously, and his green armour was only a bit covered in dust and dirt. Vapour had thanked him profusely, which was really embarrassing, and thankfully it stopped once Soundwave poked his little helm out to see her, curiosity glimmering in his optics. Not surprising. This was the first femme he had ever seen before.

Immediately the femme took a shine to the little one, offering to give tips on parenting alone as well as sparklingsitters who were trustworthy. He accepted the first but politely refused the second. Maybe he was just overprotective, but he couldn’t leave his little one with a stranger, no matter how trustworthy someone said they were. Vapour had accepted this with a sympathetic glimmer in her optics. 

So in the end, Soundwave had found a new playmate, Sam had found a fellow single parent to ask for help from after they had exchanged comm numbers, and Mimic ended up smug as the bird who got the worm. 

Soundwave was improving well enough on the Spotlight game, well enough that his carrier _(Sam had accepted being Soundwave’s carrier after the little one refused to think of him as anything else)_ would change things up a little. Sometimes he’d mash a few songs together, sometimes he’d go for songs who’s titled he had forgotten, sometimes he switched things around with Soundwave having to find a good song in Sam’s head and then Sam having to guess the name.

Still, he hadn’t actually attempted to use his alt mode yet. The car was just something he had never found time to try out, and the wings were something he knew better than to touch with a ten-foot pole. The one time he had tried out his wings, they had unbalanced him and made him fall onto his skidplate before he had bent one wingtip. If he thought that hurting his _doorwings_ hurt, then that was nothing compared to his actual Seeker wings. He had accidentally activated the thrusters in his thighs and promptly fallen flat on his face _(he was pretty sure he was reaching the end of his embarrassment meter)_ , and his wheels..? Don’t even try to ask. He was still trying to hammer out the dings. That reminded him, he needed to get him and his son a medic.

Later. He had other fish to fry. Such as fishing out how in _heaven’s name_ did the Allspark stick a sword into his subspace! Of course, this just had to be one of those topics that the Cuber stayed quiet about. Of bloody course. As a petty form of revenge, he decided to wouldn’t go for his sword until that damn being in his head at least explain what the holy hell it was.

At least he was getting used to this body. He actually knew what to do with his field now, and how to keep from dying. Well, except for his chronic clumsiness. He swore that his death would be caused in some way by him being such a klutz. But still. Mikaela would have loved this. Miles too. Mikaela would have made a wonderful carrier or sire to Soundwave, and Miles would have been that one uncle who was wrapped around his little digit and who spoiled him constantly. His parents… they would have been overjoyed to meet their new grandson, even if he was a giant robot baby.

It still hurt to think of them. By now, he doubted it ever wouldn’t.

“Huh. Looks like it actually worked, Gene.”

“Hm?” Sam looked up from his trance. His subconscious had gotten him good at taking over his job when he wanted it to, and Soundwave was currently recharging in his hold. The bond between them was probably one of the only things holding the unlikely carrier back from the deep end. He then set the last load down where it was supposed to, and ambled over to Skipper. “What did?”

“Your writing on Rivet’s servos. It worked. Now he only makes mistakes once in a while, and usually, he only needs a little prompting or a look at the backs of his servos. Good job.” An amused smile spread over the stocky mech’s faceplates. “Looks like I owe you and your bitlet a drink.”

What? What was he- oh, yeah. There was a bet on that, wasn’t there. “It’s fine, you don’t have to. At least the job gets a little easier.” And it was true. He didn’t need a ‘reward’. Just not having to direct Rivet in the direction he was supposed to be going not nearly so much was reward enough.

Skipper lifted a brow. “Hey, don’t worry, I know a sparkling friendly place, and I’m going to do it anyway. Just go finish your shift, and we can go.”

“It’s okay, I don't-”

“Nope, no takebacks. I’m a mech of my word, Gene, and we will go for a drink later. Now go, your next assignment is shipment 37251-Theta-45-Cipher6 on Merchant Cargo Transport from Praxus to the Delivery Shuttle Kalkix 0-293 going to Kalis. Got it? It’s easy enough, and some of the stuff is delicate, but I know that you won’t break them.” He offered a datapad over.

Sam sighed and rolled his optics underneath his visor, no matter if the expression was lost on the supervisor, and smiled. He accepted the pad. “Yes, sir.”

/---/

Good, hard work and an awakened Soundwave got his mind off of the impending doom that came with the end of his shift. Unfortunately, he only got so far as to sign out and take three steps towards home when Skipper’s amused voice reached him. “You really aren’t trying to get out of free fuel, are you?”

Sam paused midstep. Oh frag, he was supposed to go have drinks with Skipper wasn’t he? His processor blanked. Soundwave chirped up to him in surprise and the Allspark sniggered. He didn’t even have the heart to defend himself. “....Uh….oops?”

His immediate superior caught ahold of the startled carrier’s elbow and steered him towards a trio of mecha. Two of them looked almost identical, while the third stood between the duo. “Genesis, this is Carousel, Cartwheel and their intended, Kip. Twins, Kip, this is Genesis, but most of us call him Gene.” He waved at the one on their left for the first name, then the one on the right for the second, and the bot in the middle was evidently Kip. They were all named after acrobatics or some circus thing, he noted distantly. “They’re friends of mine. You don’t mind if they come along, right?”

“Um… it’s okay? I don’t mind.”

Carousel was a slim bot, bright cherry red with four wheels stacked atop one another instead of pedes, a slim yet mechlike frame, and blue optics. Her helm was swept back, like the plates fanning her helm had been forced back by air pressure from speed for so long that it stayed like that, and there were black detailings over her chassis and hips. The servos ended in three main digits and one ‘thumb’, and there was only one joint in between the shoulder and the wrist. But she didn’t have a ‘nose’, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. Only the Allspark told him that she was a femme. He got the sense that she wasn’t impressed with him.

Cartwheel was almost exactly the same, save that the details were set on her shoulders and hips, and she was smiling with a servo set on Kip’s left hip. She seemed far more friendly than her twin. Kip, on the other hand, looked extremely like a femme. He was more delicately built, white with fiery red, orange and gold accents, and his brilliant green optics shone with a curiosity similar to what Soundwave had. It immediately endeared him to Sam.

The twins both wore a strange white insignia on the right top of their chassis, five lines which formed a pentagon that framed a glyph meaning ‘ _entertain/amaze/excite_ ’. 

When Skipper caught his gaze, he chuckled. “They’re entertainers, acrobats to be exact. Kip works as a singer who travels with their troop.”

_Huh. Entertainers? I guess it’s like Cirque du Soleil… maybe someday I’ll take Soundwave with me to catch one of their shows._ “...Hello?” He almost offered them his servo before remembering, instead disguising it as a half-hearted wave. “It’s… good to meet you.”

_A soft whisp from across the bond caught his attention Curiosity. Impatience_. It was at this moment that Soundwave chose to poke his little helm out out the always partly-open sparkling hold. “Oh, and this is my sparkling, Soundwave.”

“Gene always keeps the bitlet with him,” Skipper said with a smile. “He’s sort of become the unofficial mascot at work.”

“Why doesn’t your mate take care of him?”, Carousel asked briskly, disapproval painted all over her faceplates. She softened towards Soundwave, but Sam got the impression that he had been judged and found lacking. “Does he or she just stay on their aft all day not helping out in the slightest?” The last bit was _definitely_ a sneer. 

Cartwheel raised a servo to cover her intake as she gaped. “Carou! That was not called for!”

Sam just waved it off, letting Soundwave climb out of the hold before the little one settled in his arms. He didn’t mind carrying the little one once in a while. Neither was he offended in the slightest. The kids at high school had been far worse. It sucked that she seemed not to respect him, but he could deal with it. She wasn’t a raging Fallen trying to destroy everyone he cared for. “I have no doubt that they would constantly be spoiling my sparkling if I did, but I’m afraid that I don’t have one,” he shrugged. 

She appeared taken aback. “...oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really, you have nothing to apologise for. You didn’t know.”

“Well,” Kip clapped his servos together in an effort to ease the awkwardness in the air. “Shall we go?”

/---/

The Energon bar wasn’t too far to walk, so they went by pede. Fine for Gene, he didn’t need to explain why he didn’t want to use his alt mode. Soon enough the four friends were all talking and laughing and basically having a good time together. Gene was clearly not part of the party, just coasting along behind. Damnit. If only Sam had actually gotten up-to-bat social skills while human!

Not. Fun.

He was relieved when they finally reached the Glass Crystal, named after the small crystal shards that glowed in their sphere lanterns. It was quiet, not busy, and they quickly were seated. He took a glance at the back where the ‘bar’ was to see the massive transparent energon dispensers, each with different types and flavours of energon and hundreds of containers of extra ingredients for the finished creations at the sides. It reminded him simultaneously of an overstocked candy store and a mad scientist’s lab, the kind seen in sci-fi movies. It all made his head spin.

The instant everyone sat down in their booth, holo-screens popped up with their menus, one for each mecha. Sam read it and felt his brow furrow. In the combinations you could request, there were the different grades of energon, what flavourings and such that you could add in, along with the brands. It made his helm spin, and he mentally swatted an amused Allspark. You could also pick a combination created by the Glass Crystal itself if you wanted. Apparently, there was an even greater selection for the higher classes, which was useless information right now.

“Gene? You having trouble?” Sam looked over to Skipper, who had a rather bemused expression on his face. 

He probably looked like an idiot. “Hmm? I’m okay, it’s fine. I guess I’m just… out of my depth.”

“What do you mean?” This time it was Cartwheel, who had already chosen two things and submitted her order. Carousel just watched with a bored visage. She had already chosen her order and was now helping Kip. 

“Um, well, I’ve never actually done something like this before. I just use medium grade energon to refuel, no additives or anything. So… yeah. Kind of overwhelmed by all the choices.”

Now all of them were staring at him in disbelief. “What?” Soundwave chittered in his arms and pawed at his sparkling hold, and he let the little one crawl back in. Seemed he was still tired out. He really needed to find a trustworthy medic soon.

“Wait, does that mean you’ve never even had rust sticks? Or energon goodies? Please tell me you’ve at least had energon goodies.” Kip seemed horrified.

Sam just shook his helm. He had practised an alibi. “My creator was a bit… paranoid, you could say. He didn’t let me touch any of that stuff. Said it was all poison. Wasn’t much for anything more than the bare essentials, actually. He worried that if someone poisoned our fuel, at least that way he could catch it before I drank.”

“... Not even...chrome-alloy cake?” Carousel looked nauseous.

He just cocked his helm to the side. “What’s chrome-alloy cake?’

She just gaped, before pulling the screen back up and adding quite a few somethings to her order. “That’s it. We’re getting chrome-alloy cake. Also all five different kinds of energon goodies they serve here, and rust sticks, and copper shanix…”

“Hm. Maybe for a drink, you can get a Gold Droplet?” Kip spoke up. His voice was quiet but steady, confident. “It’s a medium grade energon with liquid gold flavouring, selenium rust shavings and droplets of energon crystal candies. It’s tasty, one of my favourite combinations, and it’s mild too, so your tanks shouldn’t have any trouble with it.”

Sam sent over a relieved smile of thanks and chose the drink, sending in the order and letting himself relax. He had a cube of sparkling-grade waiting in his subspace for Soundwave when he decided to wake up.

The conversation unpaused and continued, although they seemed to act differently towards Sam now. For some strange reason, they seemed less annoyed with his presence and instead were friendly, kinder, more welcoming. Though Kip had already been welcoming. Even Carousel seemed to have cooled down, actually acknowledging his presence with more than thinly veiled glares. Sometimes it became a bit awkward when he couldn’t find anything to say, but they did what they could to include him. It meant more than words could say.

/---/

Sam drank from his Gold Droplet slowly, optics glued to the white slice of what seemed like a cross between cake and shaving lotion or whip cream, he couldn’t decide which. It was like someone made a round cake, pounded it into crumbs, mixed it shaving cream then used shaving lotion over it instead of icing. It had a metallic sheen, and was in a circle, with what looked like gold shavings on top. It wasn’t exactly something he wanted to put in his mouth.

His energon was delicious, just like Kip said it was. It had been golden-yellow energon in a flute with trails of electric silver-white and little cobalt spheres of crystal. It had seemed almost too pretty to drink and tasted pleasant. The energon tasted like mango nectar mixed with chocolate and raspberry and the now-familiar taste of sweet electricity and light. A strange combination, but as he had said before- delicious. Maybe he should go out and buy some flavourings for his energon later.

But… this?

Did they really expect him to put _this_ in his _mouth_ ? And _eat it_?

“...Maybe my creator was right about the poison thing…” he muttered.

“It tastes way better than it looks, I promise,” Cartwheel assured. “C’ mon, just a bite? Then if you don’t like it you can spit it back out.”

“...” He stared down at his opponent but silently took a three-pronged fork/spoon/knife thing at slid on a small bite-size. “...If I end up dead, you get the blame.” Closing his optics tight, he shoved the slice in as fast as he could so that he didn’t end up chickening out. He swallowed and bit his bottom derma. Luckily, the inside of his intake was a lot like his own mouth, so there wasn’t much trouble there. 

It tasted like… sugar. Half-liquid, vanilla Jell-O sugar with a little something that reminded him of dessert wine. A bit too sweet for him, but he understood why others might like it.

“Huh. How in _heaven’s_ name did something like that taste _edible_?” 

“So, does that mean you like it?” Carousel looked like she was actually invested in his answer.

“If you like this, Carousel, then you have one _Pit_ of a sweet denta. A little too sweet for me, but not the worse.”

“You should try the energon goodies,” Cartwheel pushed the five bowls, bowls that reminded him of sugar bowls without the tops. “They’re even better!”

Skipper snorted. “Rust sticks are the way to go,” he replied dismissively.

“No, energon goodies!”

“Chrome-alloy cake will always reign supreme.”

“...I personally prefer copper shanix. Want to try some?” Kip held out a small pile of three, and Sam smiled, picking one up before biting into it. It tasted like a mix between caramel and cherry. They were good, and he picked another one from a proffered bowl once the smaller mech saw how he liked them.

That was how the rest of night went. Friendly bickering while they each ate their favourite desserts. Rust sticks tasted like chocolate with a hint of cinnamon, and the energon goodies tasted like different types of crystalised dessert wines. If anyone caught Sam sneaking Soundwave a few bites of the chrome-alloy cake, which the bitlet liked, and a rust-stick to chew on. Then they didn’t call him out.

So the first night out with coworkers was a success. Gene found out the big deal with flavoured energon and other treats. All involved had a good time.

It was purely coincidence that the next day a small jar of mixed flavoured energon candies, another container of copper shanix, a few small bags of rust sticks and some additives for energon found their way into their hab suite.


	11. Through Another's Optics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been... *looks at time of last update*... ooh... six months or so? Uhhh... oops?  
> Sorry, the time has passed so quickly, and school has gone by quickly. 
> 
> Well, please enjoy this chapter. It did NOT want to be written!

Skipper still remembered the first day that he met the young Alpha. Gene had been wandering around by the docks, looking around with a surprising amount of curiosity. He had chalked it up to the other being from another city-state. Praxus perhaps, what with the doorwings. Few who weren’t Praxians had them. What unnerved him even more than his clear high status was the seeming lack of an EM field. His body language was unusual, like a dancer’s, his dermas were far more emotive than any that the Delta had ever seen before, and those doorwings moved  _ constantly _ .

His voice was smooth, controlled, but still surprisingly expressive. It made him seem even younger than he probably was. At the time, he had come up to ask if there was anything he was looking for because usually, someone of his rank down here was looking for something to be done. He had expected a job to be offered to his company or something. Nothing unusual.

Until he heard his response.

_ “Hm? Oh, I’m looking for a job. Why?” _

Looking for a job.

He was looking  _ for _ a job.

Not looking for someone to do a job for him, but actually looking  _ for _ one.

“ _ You… want to work. Here.” _ Dread swirled around his processor. This wasn’t the first time someone so high up came for a ‘job’, usually a mechling who had been newly upgraded on a bet or something similar, always for laughs, but something in the way this bot moved, the way he looked  _ into _ him as if looking into his very spark and seeing something new and interesting in what he found, the measure of his multi-layered vocals… This wasn’t like that.

This was  _ serious. _ After being told  _ yes, if there’s a free spot for a worker _ , he went straight to the co-owners of the company, Fallout and Load Up, and left them to deal with this mess. Of course, Gene got the job, and soon enough he was placed under the supervisor’s command. They didn’t have much of a choice. They  _ had  _ to let him work at the docks. With a few simple words, the Alpha could  _ ruin _ them. Destroy their reputation, absolutely demolish their company, all of their hard work would come tumbling down.

So the Alpha became one of their cargo loaders.

Everyone in the higher-ups sat down and got ready to see the devastation in his wake.

Except… that wasn’t what happened. Gene was a good hard worker, ever polite, always respectful, he worked  _ well _ for them. He cooperated well with the other Deltas, Pit, he worked  _ like _ a Delta,  _ as _ a Delta. Like they were all equals. All they heard were a few cases of him speaking in another language, once of what seemed like a panic attack hidden away where nobody save for one saw him, and of a few strange mannerisms. None of that was a case to fire him. In fact, from what they saw, he worked  _ harder  _ than some of the Delta workers for the same pay and often worked for longer. He  _ benefited _ the company.

Nobody could say that he wasn’t one of the strangest mecha any of them had ever met, but there was also no denying his politeness, nor his earnest resolve or his strong work ethic. Soon enough his lack of usage with his field was disregarded, and while he still mostly stayed to himself, some workers even felt brave enough to cast admiring looks on his frame when he wasn’t looking. He was kind and helpful, according to the reports. And there was no shame in admitting that he had a nice frame there.

That didn’t mean that anyone got closer than ‘acquaintances’ with him. The mech was just… Gene. He was imposing, beautiful but kept at a distance, his Alpha status looming and casting a shadow over all encounters, and his lack of field kept anything from actually growing, far less being trusted. So while he seemed nice, nobody particularly wanted to get any closer to him.

Then Gene brought his newly adopted sparkling to work, and the whole ‘imposing, always business, intimidating Alpha’ thing he had going for him shattered into a million pieces.

Soundwave was tiny but so  _ bright _ and  _ happy _ and gosh-darn curious over everything that his size didn’t matter. He was adorable, and they all were suckers for sparklings anyway. Load Up and Fallout let the Alpha taking his Beta bitlet with him as long as it didn’t harm his work, not that they would have been able to do anything to punish him. But that stoicism that had always seemed there was gone around his little one, and that meant it was gone for good because he carried Soundwave in either his arms or his sparkling hold  _ everywhere. _

Still, when Skipper had broken his lower leg strut and needed a replacement, he still knew what a terrible idea it was to leave an Alpha upset, and made Gene his replacement. Khole promised to keep an optic on him just in case. Returning, he had braced himself for chaos, destruction and severe losses but was instead met with a well-organised dock with all the work done and even a major problem solved; Rivet’s lack of direction now had two newly painted servos to turn to.

It sort of made the Alpha more likeable, to him. He decided to keep up his half-joking promise and take him out for a cube, with the sparkling, of course, in tow. Even when Gene protested that he didn’t need to do that, which was odd for an Alpha, he just shrugged it off and put it as the mech’s unfailing politeness.

But still. Taking an Alpha and the sparkling he so clearly doted on to go for a cube, alone? Yeah, not happening. He probably was used to the best grades of fuel as well. His nerves wouldn’t be able to take it. So he called over the twins from the entertainment troop Bewitchment and their bonded to-be as reinforcements. He needed help and support for this.

Cartwheel was as cheerful as ever, even though her worry bled over into her field, and Kip was cautiously keeping an open mind, but Carousel had decided to not like the Alpha on principle. However, Gene hadn’t looked down upon them, instead sounding unassured and, dare they say, nervous, so none of them knew what to think. Gene had started using his field a little more, which was helping, but he still was the tallest of the bunch, maybe even taller than Sentinel Prime himself, and he could be intimidating if he tried.

Then it was time to order their energon.

And their entire view of Gene was flipped over, stomped on and shoved into the smelting pools of Kaon.

From the little that he had said, his creator was very restricting, trying to control every aspect of his life to ‘protect’ him, and probably rarely let him socialise with anyone. If he truly hated anything ‘superfluous’, then that mech probably screened everything before Gene was allowed to even go near them, and that would include basic knowledge packets that every mecha got as they grew up, along with anything Gene might download. No wonder he was so socially inept, or that he barely knew how to use his field. All the emotion that he did show was probably just something he did unconsciously.

Maybe that was why Gene had gotten a job in the Delta sector, why he had gotten an apartment that didn’t cost too much instead of living in the Towers, he remembered clearly about how Gene had mentioned using his salary to support himself and his son.

Now, Gene seemed far more available to any sort of potential relationship, and not nearly so intimidating, like a lilith in a coal mine instead of a sparkeater who hadn’t eaten in decacycles.

/---/

There was a pretty big change in his coworkers ever since the ‘after-work drinks’ thing with Skipper and his friends. Skipper and Rivet had both been very friendly ever since his stint as substitute supervisor, but it was the other people he noticed. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He couldn’t really put his digit on it, but for some reason, people seemed… friendlier now, somehow. More open, less… was reserved the right word? Maybe. He didn’t know.

Sam frowned unconsciously as he hefted the next shipment away. It was like… someone had thrown a rock through the glass window that was dividing them and shattered it, and now the others were flocking to see what was on his side of the window. He had been getting friendly greetings now, not the stiff, pseudo-‘salutes’ of before that reminded him of the soldiers of NEST. He had even been approached by others.

It wasn’t that this change was unwelcome, he liked it! It was nice to actually be on good terms with the people he spent his shifts with. There were… work buddies now. Rivet and Skipper were a part of that, of course, but there were others now. Cooldown, a very opinionated mech with quite a bit of wit which he enjoyed, Glacier, a very calm femme who didn’t talk much not because she was shy but because she didn’t feel like she had something important to say, and when she did, she was quite blunt about it. There was also Spitfire, a complete and absolute flirt who liked cheesy pick-up lines and who was always able to make him laugh.

But still…  _ What the holy heck is going on with these people?! _

He was interrupted from his wandering trainwreck of thoughts by the yell from Rivet. “Hey, hey! Gene! Gene! I have something to show you!”

Sam turned around, the box he was holding quickly put down to his side. Soundwave poked his helm out again, curious about the commotion. “Yes Rivet? What is…. it?” He blinked, once, twice. Nope. He still saw it.

The directionally-challenged mech who was running towards them held an open crate in his arms, one arm waving up with a huge crystal shard held in his servo, maybe a few inches taller than Soundwave!  _ What in heaven’s name was he doing? _ “Err, Rivet, what are you doing?”

Rivet huffed when he finally reached the taller mech. He looked up, bright green visor even brighter from the exercise. “Gene! Gene! A shipment of Praxian crystal statues broke while coming here and they said that we could have the leftover shards and so we’re distributing it amongst us workers and I found this absolutely _ massive  _ one I think it was from a huge statue of the High Priestess Iceblade maybe forty feet tall and I thought that Soundwave might like it and you can also have some of the smaller ones too because I found everyone else before you and-”

A digit on Rivet’s dermas silenced him. Sam smiled. “Calm down, I could barely understand you. Now you said something about… Soundwave and crystals, I think?” It really had been hard to decipher everything that the smaller mech had unloaded. It was clear that everyone was excited.

“Yeah! Basically, we’re allowed the scraps of these Praxian crystals, and here’s one for Soundwave, I’ve heard that sparklings like Praxian crystals, and you can take some of the smaller ones too!”

Soundwave heard his name and something about a crystal for him and, with arms outstretched, demanded imperiously to be given the pretty blue crystal teddy with a chirp. Rivet laughed and handed the crystal over. Sam gently tugged his sparkling out of the hold to hold him in his arms as the little one kept a tight grip on his new toy. He watched in amazement as the tiny telepath visibly relaxed into a purring puddle of happy sparkling.

“Huh. Well, here you go!” Sam had barely enough time to move a servo from under his son before a small cloth baggie of mesh was dropped into his palm. “That reminds me, have you checked out yet? It’s an hour after your shift had finished.”

“Oh scrap.” But Rivet was already there, picking up the crate that was really far too big for him. “Hey, Riv, it’s fine, I can-”

“It’s fine, Gene. Go home and get some recharge. See you tomorrow!” And with that the mech disappeared, leaving Sam carrying his sparkling and a bunch of crystals. He looked down at him. Wait, Soundwave was giving off signs that the crystal was blocking his ability. His optics zeroed in on his bag of crystals, and an idea sprouted in his mind. Maybe….

/---/

Sonar looked back at Mimic, then at the door in front of him, back to Mimic, and sighed. Honestly, why was he so nervous about knocking on a door? Mimic visited  _ Vivicanternus _ all the time, and the Alpha had long since made it clear that any Gamma could come for advice or aid no matter the reason. So why? Why was he so nervous to approach the kind, gentle, polite, bumbling carrier who had opened his spark to Iacon’s Gamma population and worked among the Delta? It was ridiculous!

And yet whenever the Alpha was closer than in arm’s length, his spark started spinning wildly and not in a good way, he had to consciously keep his servos from shaking, and his plating threatened to start clattering any klik. Vapour had assured him that this was a natural reaction to what had happened all that time long past, but it had been vorns since then. Vorns since… vorns since Regalia.

_ “Come on now, little Gamma, stay still and take it from your better, take it like the little pleasurebot you are!” _

_ “Oh, my sweet, sweet jewel, Sonar, such beauty, such a sharp mind. You are worth all of Cybertron to me.” _

_ “Who would believe you? With me, you are safe and cared for! You have fuel whenever you need it, shelter to always come back to, prestige far beyond anything someone of your caste could ever dream of! Without me, you are just a dirty Gamma, nothing but scum underneath your superiors’ pedes. Without me, you are nothing!” _

_ “Sonar! There you are! Are you okay? After that last Enforcer problem, I was worried sick that you got hurt. Are you alright? You’re not damaged in any way, are you? Thank Primus you’re alright!” _

_ “No! You are nothing! Without me, you are nothing! Nothing but a pleasure bot who sold himself for credits! Nothing but a dirty little Gamma who nobody would ever care for! Not even your sire or carrier ever cared for you! If they had, don’t you think they would have held on to life longer? To stay with you? But no, they abandoned you when you needed them most! I am the only one who has ever loved you!” _

No.  _ Vivicanternus _ was no Regalia. Regalia was an expert manipulator, a possessive and easily jealous lover with a sense of entitlement that was completely blown out of proportion by his caste and wrath that echoed throughout all he met.  _ Vivicanternus _ , no, Gene was no manipulator. He was calm and quiet, endearingly clumsy and terrible at taking care of himself, always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone that crossed his path and the most oblivious mech to walk on this side of Cybertron. Gene was kind, and gentle, and patient, and socially inept, and always looking to help others, and- and…

He was no Regalia. So why was he so  _ damn terrified  _ of the Alpha?

“Sonar?” Mimic’s clumsy call of his name in Iacon’s Delta dialect broke him out of his daze. “Would you pre-pre-” He looked down at himself in frustration at his stilted glyphs. “-prefer that Ah do it? Ah know that you have had hard ex-experiiieeennnce with ‘is caste,” he asked, sounding out one of those glyphs so that he wouldn’t say it wrong. It was sort of endearing, but he could tell why the youngling was annoyed. He had been thoroughly frustrated when he had first been learning Delta, Beta and Alpha dialects, not that he used them all too often anymore. At most, he might use the Delta dialect from time to time, but never the other two.

The older mech shook his helm and flashed a rare smile in his companion’s direction. “No, it’s fine,” he assured in flawless Iaconian Delta. “I can do something as simple as the task at servo.” Hopefully. He turned back towards the door, and with his dermas pressed into a thin line, he lifted a fist and rapped smartly against the plain matte black metal. Nothing like Gene’s paint, he mused.

Another difference between the two. Gene was lovely in a quiet, less in-your-faceplates way, elegant lines and curves with simple, modest but well-done paint with a healthy shine. Black and blue with streaks of white. Regalia was all bright colours and encrusted crystals, always following the latest trend or looking to have the best and most novel accents and decorations. He’d be fine.

Right?

The reason he and Mim were coming here in the first place was that this was known to be one of Gene’s few days off, and he always without fail spent those days among the Gammas. But he hadn’t popped up anywhere since last night on his way home when he had absentmindedly noted that he had a little project to do to a passing Gamma. Nobody had heard hide or plating about him all solar cycle. This quite honestly worried the Gammas. He had literally been visiting on every single cycle off for deca-cycles now, so why would he stop today?

So they had been sent to make sure something bad hadn’t happened to the notoriously clumsy and almost naive mech that most Gammas had accepted as their own. Knowing him, that’s probably what happened, which just made things worse, though he might have just gotten lost on that ‘project’ of his. One could only hope that was the case.

When nobody answered, Sonar frowned but knocked again, this time harder. Still, time passed. The Gamma was preparing to knock down the door when it abruptly swung open to reveal a slightly scorched Gene, a bit slumped against the doorway and with a field filled with a light fatigue, but also as welcoming and open as ever. “Hey, Mimic, Sonar. What is it?” He cocked his helm in that way he did whenever he was puzzled. “I’m… guessing it’s not because you have a problem you need my help with?” Oh Primus, the big lug sounded mystified that anyone would come to check in on him without some ulterior motive!

Mimic nudged by Sonar and he gladly stepped away as the blue and orange mecha jumped the tall Alpha and trapped him in a hug, something that Gene and now Mimic called ‘glomping’. By now, Sonar just shrugged, a motion picked up from their  _ Vivicanternus _ , and didn’t even pretend to understand half of the high jinxes or eccentricities of the carrier. It didn’t even faze him anymore. By now, he was starting to wonder if anything would anymore, but he shut that thought down quick. He wasn’t about the jinx himself.

“Gene Gene Gene! Hey, why weren' you visitin’ us? I know that maybe you wanted t’ spend time alone with your bitlet, but you always visit us on your off cycles and us Gammas got worried. Are you alright? Is Sound’ave okay? Gene? Gene, why are yah laughin’?” 

It was true. Gene had been chuckling, low rumbles that clattered into soft peals of honest laughter. He calmed down slowly, then smiled. “Calm down, Mimic. I’m fine. Just got caught up in a project is all.” The large bot paused for a few kliks, then moved to the side so that they could see inside his apartment. “Would you two like to come in?”

They both took the offer, Sonar unable to prevent himself from shying away from the Alpha’s touch, though the tall doorwinger clearly wasn’t offended. “Vapour was asking about you,” he grumbled. “And Mimic was being a right scraplet in his worry.” He snorted. “As if anything could hurt a tank like yourself. Anyone would need to be badly glitched to try.”

Gene gave him a smile. “Thanks for the confidence, Sonar.”

Inside wasn’t that bad. It was a single room for the most part, with a wash-racks for one, a berth that didn’t look like Gene would fit on unless he was better at curling up than he seemed, a few storage units, a desk with a standard data net interface and a few toys. Soundwave was recharging on the berth, all swaddled up in a nest made from a large piece of fluffy mesh as a blanket. Blankets were decently rare and expensive, but Sonar wasn’t surprised to find it there. Gene always wanted the best for his son. Made sense. 

What  _ did _ surprise him, however, was the  _ fraggin’ massive shard of praxian crystal he was holding! _

How the  _ heck _ had Gene ended up with praxian crystals on his servos? Those things were so expensive that only the Alpha and Elite were able to afford them! And something  _ that _ big? It was larger than the sparkling to the point that he could barely wrap his arms around it! What  _ happened? _

Gene seemed to have noticed his speechlessness, and chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck cables in a way that he tended to do. “Yeah, turns out there was some huge statue that broke in transit, so the crystal shards that weren’t too big were distributed among the dock workers. That… actually reminds me of something.” He went over to the desk, the door having long been closed behind them, and gently removed the upside-down box that was shielding… something. That something was revealed with a soft humming and gentle telltale glow.

“...Gene? You know how to create crystal ornaments?”

There were helm chains and bracelets and all sorts of jewellery, all finely crafted and made with the utmost care. Tiny beads and crystals were held together by a fine strand of some sort of silvery metal, with charms that resembled some sort of avian beastformer and these strange four-winged… insects? No, they looked like the crystalflits his carrier once told him stories about, but they had gone extinct long ago to the point that barely anyone remembered them anymore! The training for something like this was highly prized, and often took vorns to learn to an acceptable degree!

There were about seven full-length helm chains, maybe twelve bracelets and sixteen other assorted ornaments that Sonic didn’t recognise. Regalia’s only crystal ornament, a nigh sacred family unit heirloom, had been an intricate helm chain covered with many specially grown crystals. It had been his pride and joy. While these were more simple, they were also well-made and elegant, more beautiful by far in Sonic’s optics than that dusty old heirloom ever was.

Mimic hurried over, stopping just short of Gene’s work, optic wide. “Woah… what are they?” Ah. Now he knew the temptation of the ‘facepalm’ Gene was so fond of. The youngling had never seen this sort of thing, he reminded himself. 

The carrier smiled brightly as he ambled forward. “Rivet, one of my coworkers, gave me a small packet of the leftover shards. I decided that they would be more portable like this. They’re jewellery. To be honest, I wasn’t really thinking when I started making them. It just felt… natural.” His smile fell for a few moments, and his field gave out confusion, then smoothed back out. Then he lifted up two of the bracelets, handing them each one. “Here. I made a bunch. You can have them if you like.” 

Sonar stared down at the delicate piece, stunned. This could sell for enough credits to keep him comfortably in a delta-caste lifestyle for vorns! He looked up at Gene in disbelief. Why?

The black mech shrugged. “You can sell them if you like. I got the crystals basically for free, and the chain was a piece of scrap that I found on the way home. It should help. You can keep them too if you want. It’s your choice.”

Mimic looked up, bracelet held delicately in his claws, and that was all the warning given before he launched himself at Gene. Soundwave’s carrier let out a yelp as he stumbled against the chair, nearly falling to the ground in a heap. The little bot hid his faceplates in the elder’s chassis. “ _ Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-” _

The visored mech just stared on blankly at the trembling bot as Gene struggled to calm the Gamma down. Did he even realise what he had done?

Heh.

  
_ Vivicanternus _ indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that what I'm about to say is really standard fare, but please comment and leave a kudo! The kudos show me that at least someone is enjoying this work, and the comments help me improve and to gather future ideas! They also are just really nice to get, especially when someone is reasonably polite about it.  
> And if anyone would like to beta this, message me! This work is unbeta'ed, and I could really use the feedback before actually posting this stuff! Thanks!  
> Please, enjoy the show!


End file.
